Last Smoke Before the Snowstorm
by moonstones42
Summary: Laura Adler has come to terms with her past and is ready to reconnect with her older sister. But when she arrives at Irene's house and is greeted by Sherlock and John her life is forever changed by the cold-hearted detective and his kind blogger.The three come to need each other emotionally and physically but will Sherlock's newly discovered passions ruin everything they hold dear?
1. Home Invasion

**A/N: Ok so I've already written a lot of this story - like about 55 consecutive word document pages, which is pretty unusual for me seeing as usually I have to jump around in the plot when writing; this story just comes really naturally to me, and I absolutely love writing it. Anyway, that basically means I'll be able to update it pretty regularly for a while, so no long delays between posts! Yay! Now go read the story and enjoy (if you even bothered to read this little note anyway; I hardly ever do).**

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Laura flashed the cabbie a strained smile as he hefted her luggage from the trunk onto the curb. Glancing up at the familiar house with another barely repressed twinge of resentment, she knew the ravenous pack of butterflies that had plagued her stomach for the duration of the cab ride wouldn't be surrendering anytime soon. She fought hard to control the flood of memories that came along with returning to the house where she'd lived during her last two years of secondary school; the numerous ups and downs she'd experienced here were now suddenly just as real to her as they'd been the day she'd run away.

Laura shivered involuntarily, pushing her memories aside to instead focus on counting pounds into the expectant hand of the cabbie. She forced down the desire to call him back and ask him to return her home—no, to take her as far away from this place as possible—as she watched him drive away. Sighing, she clambered up the small flight of steps with her bags, ignoring the newly installed intercom system to instead fumble with the worn lock until she heard the familiar click.

The moment Laura stepped into the spacious atrium, she knew something wasn't quite right. The house was abnormally quiet, the atmosphere cold and stilted in the absence of the smooth jazz that usually drifted through the air. Leaving her belongings by the door, she only managed to take a few steps towards the living room before an unfamiliar man cam trotting down the stairs. She had just enough time to take in his short stature and sandy brown hair before his eyes latched onto her. He scanned her form shamelessly, the heat rushing up to her face as he walked over to her with a nearly indistinct limp.

"Hello," he said with a faint smile, his lips quirking up ever so slightly to one side. He offered her his hand before adding, "I'm John Watson."

"Hello," Laura replied politely, taking his warm hand in hers as she glanced over his shoulder towards the staircase. "You aren't one of Irene's clients, are you?"

The man, John, gave her a curious look. Realizing how rude and degrading her comment must have seemed to him, she continued, "I mean, it's perfectly alright if you are; I just hope I'm not interrupting anything, or ruining the mood—"

He shook his head adamantly, brows furrowing and lips pursing as realization dawned on him. "No," he declared strongly. "And no, it most definitely wouldn't be alright if I was a client," he added, and Laura smiled. His own smile widened in response, and she couldn't help but let out a tiny sigh of relief, grateful that this man didn't condone the various and expensive actions she knew were preformed regularly in this house.

Laura tore her gaze away from the man's unusually dark blue eyes as another pair of footsteps sounded on the staircase. Glancing over John's shoulder, she caught sight of a man whom she immediately assumed was another one of Irene's recruits from Abigail's modeling company. With his halo of dark curls, long and clearly agile body, and an alien-like face that could only be described as a conglomeration of both angular and soft features, she was sure Irene had finally chosen him as the male business partner she'd been searching for.

"Sherlock," John huffed in frustration, hurrying over to support the stumbling model dressed, unsurprisingly enough to Laura, in a priest's cassock. Sherlock, the man with a name just as unique as his appearance, pushed John away to instead hurry towards Laura.

"The sister!" Sherlock slurred, his pale blue eyes spinning unsettlingly in their sockets as he approached. Laura backed away quickly, the wave of tranquility that had washed over her as she'd spoken calmly with John instantly evaporating.

"Sister!" Sherlock repeated forcefully, but Laura ignored him, taking another step back.

"Sorry, who did you say you were again?" She asked John, sure to inject as much suspicion into her voice as she could manage.

"Where is she?" Sherlock demanded before John could answer, and Laura felt her stomach drop as she finally took heed of his inebriated words.

"Irene? You mean she isn't here?" Laura felt a sudden surge of panic; something was definitely going on here—and whatever it was, it surely wasn't good.

"Sherlock calm down, you're scaring her," John growled, gripping the taller man's arm and pulling him back towards the staircase. "Just sit down and try to relax," Laura heard John mutter soothingly, and she was momentarily distracted by his gentle tone. She was quickly reminded of the potential danger of the situation when she heard the wail of sirens in the distance.

"Where's Abigail," she demanded, her voice rising in pitch and volume. Perhaps her sister's girlfriend had let these men in to her their house, as Irene had simply stepped out for a moment and had forgotten to mention where she'd gone. It had been over a decade since Laura had wanted so desperately to believe her own lies.

"Sorry, who?" John asked distractedly, attempting to keep a nearly unconscious Sherlock from sliding completely from the steps and onto the tiled floor. Fear tightened its grip on her stomach, and Laura was so high-strung that she nearly screamed when a pounding sounded on the door.

"Police—open up!" a gruff voice shouted, and Laura immediately looked to John. She expected him to run, to drag Sherlock into the coat closet nearby, or even to pull out a gun and force her to pretend as if everything was fine. But John did none of these things. He was standing now and looked totally at ease as he gestured calmly towards the door.

"Go on—open it." She stared blankly at him, then shook her head in disbelief.

"You're a terrible burglar. Or kidnapper. Whatever you are, you're not very good at it," she told him simply.

"It's probably because I'm a doctor," he told her in all seriousness. Laura hesitated for a moment, frowning at him. He made absolutely no sense—but then again, it seemed nothing did today. She was about to ask him what on earth he was talking about when there was another knock on the door. "Open up or we're breaking the door down!" the same voice thundered, and she turned away from John, walking numbly to the door and turning the handle. A pack of men swarmed past her and into the house, and John pointed casually to the living room as if teams of armed men rushed at him every day of the week.

"Call Inspector Lestrade," he told one of the heavily padded men passing by, and the officer nodded dutifully. Laura looked on in confusion as the men rushed through her sister's house, boldly bursting into rooms she'd never dared set foot into when she'd lived there as a teen. She was so absorbed in the spectacle that she jumped in surprise when a middle-aged officer touched her arm.

"Hullo Miss, I'm officer Rooney. I'm supposed to take you back to the station, just so we can ask you a few questions. If you'll please come with me…" he sounded friendly enough, and a smile was spread across his pudgy face.

"Yes, of course," she replied without thinking, turning away from the scene just as a voice shouted "Boss, we've got four bodies in here!" Laura stopped dead in her tracks, spinning around in search of the two intruders she'd found in her sister's house—but there was no sign of them. She gripped the officer's arm, and could tell by his startled expression that her eyes were as wild as her pulse.

"Those two men—Sherlock and John, John Watson—where are they? You've got to find them! They're the ones who did this!" The man's face softened in concern, and he let out a slight chuckle.

"They've just left with Inspector Lestrade," he said calmly, taking her by the elbow and leading her towards the door.

"So they've been arrested," she clarified, her breathing rate lowering back down towards normal as the panic beginning to fade a little.

"No, of course not," the man laughed as they approached the car. Laura pulled away in shock, as infuriated by his patronizing tone as she was horrified by his words.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, and he frowned at her curiously.

"Well of course they haven't been arrested; they're going to help us with the case!" Laura stared at him in disbelief; surely no one, not even an officer of Scotland Yard, was that dense.

"But they did it!" she cried, struggling to find a way to make this imbecile see sense.

"Of course they didn't! Sherlock Homes is a Consulting Detective for goodness sakes! He's solved thousands of cases for us; of course he didn't do this," the man told her. Laura gaped at him. Then, pushing past him, she climbed into the back of the police car and gestured for him to take his place behind the wheel.

"Take me to Scotland Yard," she demanded. "I want someone with more than half a brain made of jelly doughnuts to explain what the hell just happened here."

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**A/N: So there you have it! I absolutely loved writing this scene, especially drugged!Sherlock and just John in general (writing John is officially my favorite part of this story). I have so many feels for every character in this story, particularly Laura and John and Sherlock and ok just all of them! Anyway, the next chapter will be up soon!**


	2. Snobbery Bites Back

**A/N: This one's super short, but it's got Anderson so that kind of balances it out. 'What do you mean?' you say; 'We hate Anderson,' you say. Well I happen to love Anderson, because he's just so much fun to describe and I immensely enjoyed writing his dialogue. So yeah. Anderson may lower the IQ of the entire street, but he's bloody entertaining**

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Laura stared blankly at the ceiling, having given up on entertaining herself once she'd memorized every stain on the walls and dent in the tables. She'd fleetingly considered making faces in the large one-way mirror to her left, but the side of her that wasn't still five years old had quickly shot down that idea. She wasn't sure of how long she'd been in the interview room seeing as her phone had been confiscated upon her arrival, but she knew it had to have been at least an hour if the growling of her stomach was any indication.

Laura had intended to devour one of Abigail's famous tofu meat pies upon arriving at Irene's; instead, she'd been offered stale doughnuts and old coffee, both of which she'd declined. Now, glaring up at the watermarked tiles overhead, she was beginning to regret her culinary snobbery. She let out what was possibly her 15th sigh since the interviewing officer had left the room some forty five minutes ago, but immediately perked up at the faint sound of approaching voices. Shifting in her seat, she strained to make out any available snippets of the approaching party's conversation.

"…moping in there ever since she got here…tried to get her to go away…couldn't give her any answers… wouldn't see reason, so we just left her in here… your problem now…" The door opened without warning and Laura spun around, desperate to talk to anyone who could shed at least a little more light on the situation. She let out an audible gasp of surprise at the sight of John Watson standing in the doorway. He smiled at her, and she honestly wasn't sure if she wanted to glare or smile back. Either way, there was no chance of keeping her face impassive. She rose from her seat and looked him dead in the eye.

"Explain. Now," she demanded harshly, and his smile widened unexpectedly. He then glanced at the man beside him, whom Laura had completely overlooked. He was tall, with dark hair, a weasel-like face, and an unpleasantly nasally voice.

"Detective Anderson here says they're going to be needing this room for other interviews, so we can't talk here," John said, his voice ripe with honest apology "Also, they're going to send your belongings back to your flat once they've had a quick look at them—you know, just protocol."

Laura stared at him, her brain still trying to decide exactly how to process his words, actions, everything; nothing about him made any sense to her. One moment he'd been a charming stranger, then he'd transformed into a strangely calm criminal—and now he was working with the police? Anderson cleared his throat, and she felt a wave of embarrassment flow over her when she realized she'd been staring at John. "I have to keep an eye on Sherlock, so we'll have to go back to my flat, if that's ok with you," John told her, and she could tell from his tone that he'd already said the exact same phrase at least once.

"Right, ok. That's fine with me," she said calmly, doing her best to keep her voice measured.

"Perfect," John said with a smile, and she followed the two men out of the windowless room.

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**A/N: See, that was super short! But in the next few chapters things get a bit more heated with John and Laura... :) Ok that was a total exaggeration but I had to say something to make you want to keep reading! I'll just say things warm up a little; that's much more accurate!**


	3. Awkward Cab Ride

**A/N:This is what should be going on in your head right now: "Hey look, John and awkward!Laura in a cab! I can already tell this is going to be a fabulous chapter!" Sorry I just couldn't think of anything else to write here...anyway, onto the _fabulous _chapter!**

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John held open the door to the cab for her, smiling kindly and gesturing for her to enter the car first.

"Thanks," Laura murmured, careful not to look at him for fear of making an even bigger fool of herself again as she climbed into the backseat. She watched him climb in after her, but immediately averted her eyes when he looked up and caught her staring. She pulled out her phone and checked her messages, but then let out a huff of disappointment when it became clear that Irene had no intention of letting her know where she was or what was going on.

"So," she said after a few moments of silence, and John looked up from his folded hands expectantly, almost as if he'd been patiently waiting for the chance to engage in conversation.

"Is Sherlock alright?" she asked politely, recalling the man's alarmingly behavior back at Irene's house.

"Oh, he's fine," John assured her, waving away her question. "Your sister…well I'm pretty sure she drugged him right before she escaped through the window, but it seems like pretty harmless stuff. He's been a bit delusional, which the Yard seemed to enjoy, but that's all." Laura cringed when he finished speaking, massaging a temple with her fingers. Leave it to Irene to cause such a dramatic scene, managing to assault a man while simultaneously turning Laura's day completely upside down.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," Laura told him sincerely, more than used to having to apologize for her sister recklessness and complete disregard for the convenience and even safety of others.

"It's not your fault," he told her with a shrug, and she was glad to see that he didn't seem worried or upset. Remembering how gently John had spoken to and cared for the dark haired man, Laura felt another flare of embarrassment. Here she'd been, thinking John's smiles and kind words were at least a hint at flirtation; but he was clearly smitten with Sherlock—the man he was living with, for goodness sakes! She felt an overwhelming sense of self-loathing as she realized she hadn't changed at all since the age of sixteen; clearly running away from the problem hadn't ridden her of her tendency to ignore the painfully obvious in favor of a more easily digestible alternate truth.

"You and Sherlock," she began, clearing her throat when her voice wobbled slightly on the last word. "How long have you two been together?" John blinked, then let out a chuckle as he shook his head.

"We're not—we're just flat mates. There isn't anything going on between us." He said this quite convincingly, and Laura couldn't help but think it was almost as if he was trying to persuade himself as well. His tone suggested that he made this statement quite frequently, as it was only logical to assume that two men who so clearly understood and cared for each other were in a committed relationship.

But Laura knew it was also entirely possible, albeit rare, for two people to be in a completely platonic yet devoted relationship. The thought that she wouldn't mind sharing John with Sherlock suddenly jumped to the forefront of her mind, but Laura quickly pushed it away. She had no right to think like that; she wasn't part of John's life, or Sherlock's for that matter. She was simply another stranger, another passerby on the long, winding, unmapped road of life. She was someone to be met once, or maybe even twice if fate was in the mood, but then forgotten about and never seen again. And Laura knew that was all she ever would be—that was all she would ever allow herself to be.

"Good," she told John in response to his assurance that he and Sherlock weren't together—at least not in the way she'd implied. John raised his eyebrows with a questioning smile. "I mean not good per se —I wouldn't have a problem with the two of you being together. I just meant that…"

"I understand," he told her kindly, in a noble attempt to save her from any further embarrassment. However, as Laura was sure he did indeed understand the true nature of her comment, his words only sent more heat rushing to her face.

"We're here," he announced a few moments later when the vehicle came to a stop, and she gratefully vacated the cab. Perhaps once they were inside of the flat they could start over, and she could pretend as if the string of embarrassing events that had occurred in the past twenty minutes hadn't happened at all. John paid the cab fare, then led her down the busy street to a curbside sandwich shop.

"This is a rather nice location," she commented, trying to sound as casual as possible as she looked up and down the street.

"Cheers," John said as he pulled out his keys, twisting one into the lock of a royal blue door labeled 221. "The building's Mrs. Hudson's'; she's a sweet lady, although she can be quite tough when need be. You wouldn't want to get on her bad side," he told her as he closed the door behind them and led her up the dimly lit staircase. "You'd like her," he added over his shoulder as they approached the landing.

"Maybe I'll get to meet her someday," Laura said boldly. She then held her breath in anticipation of his response when she realized just how forward her words had sounded. I've totally ruined it, she thought in frustration as they stood before the closed door to the flat; now he probably thought she was just like Irene.

John's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but his face seemed to light up a bit. It could have just been Laura's wishful thinking flaring up once more, but she couldn't help think that perhaps he'd been looking for a sign, something to tell him that it was indeed alright for him to flirt with her. Laura had spent the last decade avoiding and shooting down the advances of men at every turn, so it wasn't hard to believe that John had picked up on the 'don't approach me' vibe she'd been sending out for so long it had become second nature. While keeping the advances of men as far away as possible had been her goal for the last thirteen years, it was suddenly painfully clear to Laura that she no longer wanted to be alone.

"Only if you'd like to," John said nonchalantly enough; he was testing the water.

"Oh, she sounds fantastic; I'd definitely like to meet her," she told him, and Laura hoped she wasn't just imagining the way his dark blue eyes seemed to invite her in as he pushed open the door to the flat, or the way his smile now seemed slightly different from the ones he'd given her before.

Irene had often told Laura about the game of cat and mouse— about how men loved the chase, how it was essential to be as illusive and therefore attractive as possible in their eyes. Laura had of course believed her sister to be the expert at all things romantic at the time. But now, staring after the doctor she'd found earlier that day in Irene's house with his drugged detective of a flat mate, she knew that John was no ordinary man; conventional flirtation games just weren't going to cut it. Thankfully, Laura thought as she crossed the threshold, she was most definitely no ordinary woman.

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**A/N: Yay awkwardness! Ugh I just love this story so much... Next chapter: Laura gets to know a little more about John, and Sherlock as well**


	4. Curiosity

**A/N: So remember how I said things would start getting a bit "warmer"? Well that does start to happen in this chapter, so you can stop skimming through everything trying to get to the _attraction_ and the _desire _and blah blah blah (don't try to pretend, we both know that's exactly what you were doing). **

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Laura heard John let out a huff of frustration as she entered the flat behind him, and she peered over his shoulder into the train-wreck of a sitting room. "I'm terribly sorry about the mess," John told her, hurrying over to remove a stack of manila folders from a maroon leather arm chair before offering the seat to Laura.

"It's alright, I've lived in worse," she told him with a smile, and then caught sight of the kitchen. "Actually never mind; this definitely takes the cake," she corrected, staring wide-eyed at the chaotic array of test tubes, petri dishes, and what appeared to be chunks of decaying something littering the table."

"Sherlock's not big on housekeeping," John muttered apologetically, and she gave him an incredulous look.

"Yeah, no kidding," she said, rising from her seat. "Do you think he'd mind if I just took a look?" she asked, and he gaped at her.

"Uhm, yeah, go ahead," he said after a pause, looking completely stunned.

"It's just that I've always been insanely curious," she told him as she peered into the microscope, fascinated by the tiny creatures that moved before her eyes despite the fact that she had no idea what she was witnessing. "Do you know what all of this is for?" she asked, leaning in as close as she dared to get a better look at the thankfully odorless substance growing on what appeared to have once been a hunk of bread.

"It's got something to do with a case," John said, taking her arm and pulling her gently away from the table. She could feel the warmth of his fingers on her forearm through her blouse, and her eyes immediately flew up to his face. He released his grip, and Laura momentarily considered leaning forward over the table again just to feel the pressure of his hand on her arm once more. "You probably don't want to get that close; Sherlock's convinced the man died from a mysterious and undetectable substance in his lungs," John told her, and she nodded as her rational side won out and she allowed him to lead her back to the living room.

"One of the police officers, Robby or something, mentioned that Sherlock was some sort of private consulting detective?" she asked once she was seated again, and John nodded. "I've never heard of anything like that; is it a really uncommon profession?" John shook his head, sitting down in the black leather chair across from her.

"He's the first and only one, and will gladly brag about it to anyone who will listen—and even to those who won't," he told her, and Laura laughed.

"And you said you were a doctor, right?" she asked, recalling his deadpan proclamation at Irene's house.

"Yes, although I spend more time helping solve impossible cases than I do at the surgery. My boss doesn't like it, but—" he leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering his voice so that Laura had to lean in as well in order to hear him. "Don't tell Sherlock I'm saying this, although I'm sure he already knows, but I'd rather chase down a homicidal maniac than prescribe allergy medication any day."

She glanced down at his lips as he spoke, and although John was still at least a yard away, Laura had to force herself to sit back in her seat before her body could give into the forceful demands of the more carnal side of her brain.

"So you're an adrenaline junky then, are you?" she asked teasingly after a pause, and laughed when he merely shrugged. "I suppose you could say that. Although I am still quite cautious, mind you," he said rather seriously, as if he wanted to make it clear that it wasn't he who was the reckless one. She knew he was of course referring to Sherlock, but Laura felt her heart skip a beat at the paranoid thought that John knew just how daring a part of her was desperate to become.

But John licked his lips then, and she caught sight of what she knew he considered to be a stealthy glance at the expanse of skin exposed by her crossed legs. Laura suppressed a smile as she realized the rush of desire she was currently experiencing afflicted them both, and she silently thanked Abigail for re-doing her wardrobe a few months prior. The model's favorite black pencil skirt was, judging by John's wandering eyes and most likely wandering mind, doing its job quite well.

"A doctor and a consulting detective solving crimes together," Laura said casually, although her voice sounded strangely loud to her after her silent mental reprieve. "It sounds like something straight out of a fiction novel. I'm not sure I'm really following; how did you two get together? And what does any of this have to do with my sister?" John blinked rapidly as he returned to the conversation, glancing down at his watch and then back up at her. "Well, it would really make the most sense if I started from the very beginning. But only if you've got the time; I don't want to keep you."

"Oh I don't have any prior engagements or anything; the only thing I'd had planned for today was visiting with my sister," she told him, shifting slightly in her seat to get more comfortable. Laura savored the surge of power she felt when she crossed her arms over her chest and John's eyes immediately flew to her bosom. He suddenly seemed to find the locket that rested just beside an unclasped button on her pale pink blouse to be the most fascinating item in the room.

"I want to know what's going on here, and I'm willing to listen for hours if need be to get some answers. Besides," she added, placing her elbows on her knees and leaning forward to rest her chin on her knuckles, "I'm deeply intrigued."

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**Next chapter: actual, real sexual tension! I know, finally, right? But in my defense, I couldn't have just started off the fic with hot steamy sex. Ok maybe I could have, but this is the story of their lives: of the complex relationship between John, Laura, and Sherlock. And lives are about more than just sex-especially the lives of these three. Although of course if this story is about the sister of a dominatrix, sex is going to make up a pretty big part of her life-just not in the way you'd think. **


	5. The Blogger's Tale

**A/N: As promised, this chapter is just loaded with sexual tension. Ok not really, but there is a rather steamy scene at the end! I should really stop raving about how amazing the chapter is going to be before you guys even read it...but I just love this story so much so I really doubt I will. This is my pride and joy, people! I don't think I've really enjoyed writing anything as much as I love writing this and I just want to share it with you all! Ok enough sappy confessions, let's get onto the steamy-ness! **

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"Wait, so you're at the pool, with Sherlock pointing a gun at the bomb that was strapped to your chest, and his phone starts playing the Bee Gees?" Laura cried, laughter bubbling out of her throat as she finally relaxed the death-grip she'd had on the leather armrests for the last few minutes of John's tale.

"Yes!" John shouted, laughing so hard tears of mirth threaten to spill over his blonde lashes. "It was literally the most terrifying, most hilarious moment of my life," he gasped. "I mean it was terrible at the time, but now…good god, Sherlock thought it was so annoying but I think it's fucking priceless," he laughed, and Laura got the feeling that he didn't get the chance to express his mirth this freely as often as he'd like to—not specifically because of Sherlock, but because of the life he'd lived. As far as Laura knew, going from successful army doctor in Afghanistan to wounded and alone in London to living with possibly the most serious man ever to grace the earth didn't allow for much relaxation time.

"That has got to be the best story I have ever head. Not just the pool part, but all of it! Have you ever thought of writing it down?" she wondered, and her eyes widened in surprise when his face lit up.

"I have! I mean I've actually written everything, not just thought about it. I've got a blog," he told her, and although his tone was only flecked with pride, Laura was genuinely impressed.

"Could I read it?" she asked tentatively, knowing from experience how touchy some could be about people they knew reading their writing. Although I don't really know him, Laura had to remind herself. John only told me all those things because he wanted to clarify his and Sherlock's involvement in what happened earlier, that's all; there was nothing more to this. Except there was, wasn't there? She may not have wanted to accept it, but Laura could most definitely feel a distinctly different something in the air, the kind of change in the room's atmosphere she'd read about in novels but hadn't ever expected to encounter in reality.

"Yeah, of course," John told her, leaping up for a pen and paper. Just then, a crash sounded from overhead, followed by a distinctly masculine groan of "John!"

"He's woken up again," John said from his desk, inching towards the staircase as he glanced over at Laura apologetically. "I should go check on him."

"Of course," she told him, hurrying up from her seat as he scribbled down the name of his blog. "This was incredibly kind of you—explaining everything to me, letting me into your home, all of it. Thank you," she said sincerely with a grateful smile.

"Kindness has nothing to do with it," John told her quietly with that same new, not so innocent smile as he handed her a slip of paper. Laura blushed for possibly the tenth time that afternoon at his murmured comment, but then intentionally brushed her fingers against his as she reached for the paper.

"I put my mobile number on there as well," he told her, and she looked up at him, pleasantly surprised by the hint of longing she could just make out in his gaze. "Just in case you have any more questions…" he clarified, his sentence trailing off as they continued to stare at each other. Their fingers were still touching, and Laura could have sworn he'd just begun to lean towards her, his lips parted ever so slightly, just as another thud sounded from upstairs.

"I should go," Laura told him, her voice coming out as a barely audible whisper as she pulled the paper entirely from his grasp.

"Right," John said gruffly, clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair. "And I should go help…yeah. Cheers," he finished weakly with a half-hearted wave, and she returned the gesture with a tentative smile before hurriedly vacating the flat.

Laura found herself racing down the stairs and out onto the street, and she was still panting even after the cab she'd acquired pulled away from the curb. She forced herself not to turn around with the juvenile hope of catching a glimpse of John, and instead slumped down in her seat. She covered her face with her hands before letting out an exhausted groan. It had been years since Laura had experienced any feeling even close to this; it was strange and nerve-racking and terrifying and exhilarating, and she never wanted it to stop. Laura had no idea why, but although she had never once pursued a man in her entire life, today, things had changed. It was with a jolt of fear mixed with excitement that Laura finally allowed herself to accept a fact she'd denied from the moment she'd laid eyes on the strangely alluring army doctor: she wanted John Watson.

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**A/N: Ooo so Laura finally admits to feeling something for the army doctor! Next chapter: SHERLOCK! :D I'm excited; are you excited? You should be excited. **


	6. This One's Different

**A/N: And now the moment you've all been waiting for: SHERLOCK! :D i absolutely love writing in his POV, so I hope you guys enjoy this. I find that writing as Sherlock comes really easily to me and has actually become one of my favorite pass-times...I don't really know what that says about me. But on to the chapter!**

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"You're sure she didn't touch anything," Sherlock demanded again, ignoring John's sixth sigh in half as many minutes as he carefully inspected each item scattered across the crowded kitchen table.

"Yes, Sherlock, I'm sure," John said, his voice tight. Sherlock shifted at John's words, standing upright and eyeing the older man. John's face was flushed, his hands were clenched, and his feet were spread slightly apart: subconscious defensive position. John was offended by Sherlock's unspoken yet still crystal clear opinion that The Woman's sister had been of less than average intelligence—just as all his previous paramours had been. Sherlock bit back a sigh as he wondered not for the first time why John continued to seek out and engage in romantic relationships with women he so obviously wasn't compatible with. The relationships never lasted and were pitiful even during their short durations, but John hadn't stopped trying. He'd also never been afraid to admit that these relationships were flawed, that they were superficial and without substance. However, Sherlock got the feeling John wouldn't be so quick to agree if the detective made the same assumption about John's encounter with this particular woman.

"You like her—more than all the others." Sherlock intended the words as an inquiry, but they came out as a statement. John's eyes widened slightly at the sudden change in subject, but he didn't look particularly uncomfortable; in fact, his hands and jaw noticeably relaxed.

"I do," John said, his lips quirking up to the side in a smile as if the realization was only now completely evident to him. "She's…well, she's different. Unlike anyone I've ever met," John continued, and Sherlock racked his brain for another subject to discuss; the last thing he'd wanted was to get John talking about whomevershewas.

"Yes that's lovely," Sherlock said dismissively, striding over to the refrigerator in search of a more interesting topic. Oh yes—the fingers he'd borrowed from Molly had begun to decay quite nicely. Ignoring John, he pushed aside a stack of old solved cases to make room on the table for the newest object of his attention.

"Are you going to see her again?" The question leapt from Sherlock's mouth without warning, causing the dark haired man to frown into his microscope. He had absolutely no interest in the sister—it was The Woman who'd been stimulating, dynamic, and interesting. What did he care if John saw her sister again? She was probably incredibly dull, and not to mention dense as well. As long as John didn't put this new lover first—which he Sherlock didn't believe he would, no matter how unique she supposedly was—Sherlock didn't give a flying fart about whether or not John spent a small fraction of his time with some mundane female. John seemed to think he was entitled to at least a little time away from Sherlock every now and then, and although Sherlock didn't particularly understand it, he'd refrained from intruding on most of John's dates in an attempt to please the army doctor.

When John didn't answer, Sherlock lifted his gaze momentarily to see him fingering the sleeve his cable knit sweater and staring at his shoes with a slight frown.

"Well?" Sherlock asked insistently, immediately making another face; why did he feel the need to know the details of John's pitifully repetitive romantic life? Perhaps it was because he could tell this time it was different—he'd seen the evidence and John had said so himself: she had affected John like no other woman before her. Perhaps Sherlock was merely attempting to learn, trying to reassess the situation now that things had changed. He told himself these things as he waited impatiently for John's answer, but didn't believe a word of it. That was the problem with genius, he knew well enough by now: it gave you the power to see through even your own lies.

"I'm not sure," John said finally, pulling Sherlock out of his contemplation of his own mental conundrum. "I gave her my mobile number but she hasn't called yet," he added, and Sherlock felt a distinctively unfamiliar something stir in his stomach.

"Well perhaps she didn't feel the same way about you," Sherlock murmured, ignoring of the strange new bitterness the lie left behind as it exited her mouth. It was obvious that this woman, whoever she was, was attracted to John; not only had she agreed to come to the flat of a total stranger she'd discovered in her sister's house, but she also hadn't left when it had become clear John didn't have any real useful information for her. But Sherlock voiced none of these observations, instead letting John wallow in self-doubt.

"It's only been two days," John huffed, his hands clenching once more as he practically threw himself into his maroon leather armchair.

"Of course," Sherlock agreed in that facetious tone he'd mastered at age six. He quickly pushed away the knowledge that were his mother aware of his actions, she'd kindly remind him that he was being "cruel" again. Sherlock didn't care if he slightly injured John's pride or not; Sherlock wanted…well that was the problem, wasn't it? Sherlock had no idea what he wanted.

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**A/N: So how'd you like it? Please let me know in the review section, I really want to hear back from you guys! Laura's back next chapter so if you didn't particularly enjoy Sherlock then you can look forward to that. And if you did enjoy him (which i hope you did) then have no fear, he'll be back soon!**


	7. Third Day's the Charm

**A/N: Sherlock will be back soon, but it'll be a few chapters before anything happens between he and Laura. In the meantime, we get to see Laura and John's relationship grow and prosper and whatever :)**

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Laura waited three days before dialing the number scribbled in distinctively med-school-graduate handwriting on a fragment of an old takeout menu. It wasn't until she'd arrived home from a particularly long day of editing a famous author's soon-to-be sixth best seller that she'd allowed herself to think about the scrap of paper on her bedside table. Now, nearly totally submerged in a lavender bubble bath and nursing a glass of red wine, she could hear Irene's words of wisdom floating through her head.

"One day says desperate," Irene had told her when, at the age of fourteen, Laura had asked why her sister had yet to call the twenty-something she was so melodramatically besotted with. "Two still says too eager, but four or more says he's no more than an afterthought," the infallible guru of all things male had told her, and the words had stuck.

After wiping the suds from her hand, Laura reached for her phone and the advertisement for Free Chinese Cuisine Wednesdays. Taking a deep breath, she whispered to herself that this would not end like her first attempt at a relationship—she was now stronger, wiser, and most importantly, away from that bloody house and all that it stood for. She then flipped the paper over and dialed the number, nearly dropping the phone when John answered on the third ring.

"Hullo?" his voice was thick and slow, and Laura was immensely grateful that he had no way of seeing the heat that flooded her cheeks and neck, or the way she squirmed beneath the water due to the bewitchingly viscous element that sleep had added to his speech.

"Oh, sorry—did I wake you? I can call back later if—"

"Who is this?" he asked gruffly, and she cringed, wishing nervousness didn't have the ability to wipe all propriety from her mind.

"This is Laura, Laura Adler. We met a few days ago…" The realization that he might not even remember her hit Laura with far more force than it should have, evoking a pitifully hurt, but thankfully inaudible, whimper from her lips.

"Yes, yes, I'm being terribly rude," he said after clearing his throat. Her delight that he did indeed remember her was slightly overshadowed by the fact that the gravely edge to his voice that she'd so enjoyed had now disappeared. "How are you, Laura?" he asked, and she smiled stupidly into the phone at the sound of her name on his lips.

"I've been doing pretty well," she told him, her nervousness beginning to dissolve. "I've spent the past few days editing an incredibly exciting novel; Ghram Lucas is terrible with character development, but otherwise his language is almost hypnotic," she told him, wanting to make sure he knew her profession wasn't at all connected to Irene's.

"You're a book editor, then?" he asked, and she nodded, then added "yes," when she recalled that he couldn't actually see her. "And you're probably a bloody good one if you're working with Lucas," he said, and she smiled. "I suppose you could say that," she replied in an overly boastful tone, and he laughed.

"Well, Miss Adler, it's suddenly become very obvious to me that I know absolutely nothing about you…" he began, and she smiled, glad that he'd picked up on her impersonation of Lucas' rather pompous rhetoric and had joined in on the joke. "…while I have firsthand evidence that you know quite a bit about me. I hardly think that's fair, do you?" he asked, and she laughed.

"Not at all, Dr. Watson. Perhaps we should do something to level the playing field," she suggested, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he responded.

"My thoughts exactly. I know of the most exquisite dining residence; how doest thou feel about cuisine of the Italian variety?" he asked, and she giggled shamelessly.

"I've never encountered anything I enjoyed more," she managed to reply between bouts of laughter.

"Does tomorrow evening, Alfonso's Italian Fine Dining at eight sound good?" he asked, resorting to a normal tone once again.

"It sounds perfect," she told him, grinning like a fool.

When she hung up the phone a few minutes later, Laura simply laid back in the water, letting the warm liquid lift her up and leave her suspended in the first real contentment she'd felt in far too long.

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**A/N: So, because I have finals this week, I won't be updating any of my other stories until next week. But luckily for you guys, I've already written a ton of this story so I can just update in like 15 seconds. So while all my other readers have to wait a whole week, you guys still get daily updates! :D It's not that I'm biased towards Sherlockians...but I totally am :P **


	8. A Teaching Moment

**A/N: John and Laura's first date, followed by their first kiss (cue aw); enjoy! Why do I even bother naming these chapters? I can never think of a creative title and it just ends up being something totally obscure from the chapter and it's just pathetic. But I've already named them all so far so I can't stop now! Oh the woes of being (slightly) OCD...**

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"I honestly cannot believe you don't like chocolate," John cried for perhaps the tenth time that evening as they approached her flat. She laughed, shaking her head at him.

"Is it really that hard to comprehend? Some people detest asparagus—which I actually think is quite delicious. I just hate something a little less common," she explained, but he still gaped at her.

"But—but it's chocolate! All women like chocolate," he said in earnest, as if she was defying some set law of the universe just by existing.

"Well clearly they don't," she said with a sweeping gesture at her torso as they made their way down the sidewalk. John had inadvertently chosen a restaurant only a few blocks from her home, and had offered to walk her back to her flat although it was out of his way. The night was rather chilly, and Laura was sure both of them used this coincidental change in weather as an excuse to walk even just a little closer to each other.

"Maybe you should just accept the fact that you clearly aren't an ordinary woman," he said with a smile.

"I think that would make things a lot easier for both of us," she agreed, then slowed her pace as they approached her flat. She came to a halt just in front of her door, turning to face him but not yet reaching for her keys.

"Well, ignoring the fact that you completely destroyed my very limited understanding of women, I had a great time tonight," John told her, his voice transitioning from comical to sincere as he spoke. She took a step towards him, not bothering to prevent her eyes from drifting down to his lips as she increased their proximity.

"Then maybe you need someone to teach you about what women are really like," she said softly, and although her words came out far more provocatively than she'd intended, she didn't regret her tone in the slightest. John's eyes seemed to darken at her statement, and he tilted his head forwards so that his lips were just barely out of reach.

"I get the feeling you'd make a fantastic teacher," he whispered, the roughness in his voice causing her heart rate to spike even higher. He must've known what he was doing to her, Laura decided—she refused to believe anyone could be this bloody attractive on accident. His breath was enticingly warm on her face, and Laura found herself stepping forward again until she was able to feel the zipper of his jacket snag against her scarf.

"And I get the feeling you wouldn't really care either way," she murmured almost inaudibly, then tilted her chin upwards to brush her lips ever so slightly against his.

John let out a small sigh in response, his eyes drifting shut as he leaned forward to press his nose against hers and silently insisted upon a proper kiss. Laura repeated the action once more, testing his patience. John let out another noise, his breath now slightly hitched and his lips parted pleadingly. Laura smiled, then finally gave in and pressed her mouth against his. John responded immediately, reaching up to cup her face in his palm as he added even more pressure to the kiss. His hand was warm and soft against her cheek, and she leaned into it as her eyes drifted shut and John's lips tugged at hers.

She slid her hand into his jacket, resting it against his shirt and savoring the rapid pounding of his heart beneath her fingertips. It took longer than it should have for Laura to realize that John's other hand was on her waist, and he gently pulled her closer to him until her hand was sandwiched between them. The two of them stayed in this delightfully intimate position for some time, their lips and bodies pressed together in a warm and gentle embrace. Laura finally and reluctantly broke the kiss when she felt John's phone begin to vibrate insistently against her hip.

"I hate that man," John whispered, staring at Laura with an undeniable longing and showing no sign of ever removing either of his hands.

"Promise me we'll do this again and I'll let you go," Laura breathed, loving the exhilarating feeling of power that swept over her as she uttered the statement. John was completely free to leave—hell, it was his hands that held her tightly against him, not the other way around. But Laura possessed a strange power over him. It wasn't one she quite understood, or felt totally justified in using—but there was nothing on earth that had ever made her feel this alive. For the first time in her life, Laura felt as if she really understood why Irene had chosen the profession of a dominatrix; her sister had craved power, ever since they were little, and this was without a doubt the most exhilarating way of obtaining it.

"Of course we'll do this again. I'd do this every day if I could. And I mean that," he said sincerely, and Laura placed a fleeting kiss on his lips.

"So would I," she whispered, and she felt the pressure on her cheek increase as he attempted to bring her lips to his once more. "Go save Sherlock from himself," she told him with a smile, before pulling away completely to unlock the door and leave him alone on the sidewalk.

The moment the door closed she leaned her back against it, struggling to control her breathing as she slid down onto the hardwood floor. Laura was overwhelmed, plain and simple. It had been so long since she'd experienced so many delectable things—emotions, desires, sensations, smells, urges, feelings, touches—all at once that her mind simply didn't know how to process it all. She'd kept her cool around John, but now she was beginning to fall apart.

After a few minutes of struggling to calm herself down, Laura eventually managed to clamber off of the floor and into bed. And, as she lay there in her favorite nightshirt, Laura finally allowed that one feeling she'd been denying herself for so long to wash over her. Here and now, in the wake of the only genuinely enjoyable encounter with a man she'd ever experienced, Laura felt loved.

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**A/N: Pretty sappy ending, I know, but it's still cute, no? Ok, maybe not. But we have to get through the cute stuff before we can get to everything else! Next chapter, Sherlock's back and he's in a pretty foul mood (but then again it is Sherlock so really what else can we expect?). Things are changing and he doesn't like it...at all. **


	9. Of Tea and Apathy

**A/N: Everyone's favorite consulting detective is back; rejoice, readers! I'm not really sure how I feel about this chapter. I mean I've been working on this story for quite a while so I've pretty much re-read every word at least 15 times trying to make sure it's exactly how I want it (I'm a bit of a perfectionist...). **

**But I avoided writing this chapter for months (although I have no idea why), and only finally got around to it last night so I could post it here. I've only read it a few times so maybe I only feel weird about it because it hasn't had time to sink in?  
**

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Sherlock shouldered open the door to 221B, his sore arms straining as he dragged the heavy cloth sack over the threshold. He stood and rested his hands on his hips for a moment, waiting for John to come padding over ready with a string of frustrated questions about why he'd thought it would be alright for him to arrive home late in the evening hefting an entire sack of femurs given to him by a grateful paleontologist. However, the only detectable sound in the entire flat was that of the boiling vat of various chemicals he'd left on the stove before venturing out that morning. Sherlock left the bundle of bones near the door and stepped into the living room, scanning the room for any signs of his flat mate. John's shift had ended a little over an hour ago, yet the man had clearly yet to return home.

He supposed John could have merely remained at the surgery due to an increase in ailed patients, but knew that the clinic always ran slow on Saturday nights. Sherlock wandered into the kitchen and began making himself a pot of chamomile tea. He'd begun craving it recently, not all together sure of why he so strongly desired the warm liquid despite its rather calming effect on his nerves. His occupation required that he be constantly on edge, ready to analyze and observe at all times—yet now, left completely alone in this flat while he knew John was off with her, all Sherlock wanted to do was relax. He sank down on the couch with John's favorite mug and took a hesitant sip before covering his hands with his face and letting out a heavy sigh.

Sherlock no longer wanted to hunt and search for clues, to track down killers and criminals; he'd done it alone for years, but now the urge to roam the streets in solitude was gone. He needed someone to share his adventures with, and if the army doctor would rather gallivant around London with his new found love interest than with him, then perhaps these adventures weren't even worth having. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed the most recently called number, deciding then and there that he'd never investigate another case again. When John didn't answer, he threw the phone across the room with an angry grunt.

He was being completely illogical, he knew. Sherlock had discovered at a very young age that one's happiness didn't depend on the actions and feelings of others. He'd been perfectly content with solitude all his life, and nothing had occurred to change this. But something had occurred—or someone, rather. Perhaps that was the problem. No, of course that was the problem. Once John had appeared in his life everything had brightened, but now it seemed that light was beginning to fade away…that the light was being taken away. By her.

Sherlock had already been stretched out on the sofa for two hours when he'd chucked his mobile into the bookshelf, and he didn't bother to move as time dragged on. His thoughts followed the same circular pattern in his mind with no sign of stopping. He wanted John to return home, but spitefully hoped he'd never come back; he told himself he didn't need the army doctor, but wished that blasted girlfriend of his would die in some tragic accident so John would belong solely to him again; he wanted to do something to get rid of John's lover himself, but was too afraid to do anything that might upset his flat mate.

Sherlock's mind was pulled from this destructive cycle at the sound of John's cry of surprise as he stumbled over the threshold and into the sack of bones.

"What the hell is that?" John cried, the floorboards creaking as he stepped over the bag and into the flat. Sherlock didn't bother to look up, his arm still thrown lazily over his eyes as John entered the kitchen.

"So, why did you call me? What did you want?" John asked, and judging by his tone Sherlock assumed he was currently standing over him with his hands on his hips. Sherlock didn't respond, and he heard John take a deep breath. "You know what? I don't even care. You completely ruined my date tonight, but I don't care," John said, his voice making it clear that he did in fact care very much. Sherlock could tell by the faint smell of women's lotion coming off of John's clothing that while perhaps Sherlock had cut the encounter short, he most definitely hadn't ruined anything. John obviously wanted to make him feel guilty; clearly he'd yet to realize that anything involving that blasted girlfriend was only going to provoke one emotion from Sherlock: hatred.

"Did Mrs. Hudson make tea? And where's my mug?" John called a few minutes later upon entering the kitchen, and Sherlock ignored him out of spite; if John had bothered to pay even the slightest bit of attention to Sherlock rather than focus entirely on his girlfriend, perhaps he would've picked up on Sherlock's budding tea addiction.

"Must've been one hell of a date. Nice of you to finally return home," Sherlock muttered with far more bitterness than he'd intended when John finally entered the living room, the faint scent of tea alerting Sherlock to the steaming generic mug in John's hand.

"Didn't realize you'd been waiting up," John said, his words accompanied by the sound of the cushions readjusting to his weight as he lowered himself into his red armchair.

"Of course you didn't," Sherlock said darkly, then stealthily glanced out of the corner of his eye to see John's brow wrinkled in confusion.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, and when Sherlock didn't reply he let out a heavy sigh.

"Look, I'm sorry if you'd had some exciting adventure planned for tonight. But I'd already told Laura-"

"Without bothering to inform me," Sherlock interrupted, trying to keep as much emotion as possible out of his voice. He heard the distinct sound of leather cushions shifting as John repositioned himself in his seat.

"I'm sorry, but when did my 'mundane, pitifully repetitive love life' become any of your business?" he John asked, and Sherlock suppressed a smile; this is what he'd missed, what he'd needed. Not tea—tea was boring. But John? Oh, john was fascinating; all anger and rage and compassion and sentiment fused together to form quite the engaging specimen. The things Sherlock found terribly dull were stimulating once John was added to the mix, and characteristics that had always excited him were all the more interesting as whenever the army doctor was concerned.

Ignoring his comment, Sherlock turned away from John and faced the wall. He knew he couldn't honestly answer the question without even further altering their relationship; at this point voicing his dislike for John's girlfriend would only worsen things between the two flatmates. He hated the idea of John spending time with his girlfriend, but he feared losing John far above all else. Perhaps, he thought as he heard John mutter something indistinct under his breath as he headed towards his room, happiness was slightly affected by the presence of others. Although never totally dependent on, Sherlock was quick to remind himself.

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**A/N: So hopefully it's just me and this isn't a terribly atrocious chapter after all? Let me know what you guys thought about this one! Next chapter: Laura and John go out on another date and we get back to the _attraction_ and _desire_ and all that jazz.**


	10. Doctor, Detective, Director?

**A/N: So here we are, back to Laura and John's with their second date! Cue romance (except it isn't really romance because I have no idea how to be romantic in the slightest. Really it's just adorable-ness with a few erotic feelings thrown in. Maybe that's all romance is, really...)**

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Nearly four weeks passed before Laura saw John again. She hadn't intended for them to go so long without meeting; in fact, she'd done her best to free her busy schedule as much as she could. But between John's irregular shifts at the surgery, his adventures with Sherlock, and Laura's recent flood of work that had come along with being assigned to an up and coming author, there simply hadn't been enough hours in the day for romantic escapades.

However, Laura and John managed to converse on the phone often, alternating between bouts of teasing instigated by Laura and the more genuine, sweeter conversations John seemed so fond of. Despite their long and hectic days, they spent their nights sharing hopes and dreams and whispering childhood stories that to anyone else would have seemed boring and trivial. Laura would always make a sarcastic comment whenever she felt the conversation was drifting too close to the dangerous waters of those final two years she'd spent living with Irene—something she was sure John had picked up on. But he never once pried her for information, taking her hints and skirting around certain topics in a way that clearly displayed his kind heart and generally understanding, patient nature.

When Laura and John finally met in person once more, it was more because of Sherlock's unparalleled skill at driving John up the wall than a break in their work load. The lanky detective had taken to shooting holes in the wall yet again during a dry spell in their case load, leaving John determined to get out of the house and away from his sulking flatmate. He called Laura just after she'd finished up another meeting with the promising writer, and she agreed to dinner and a trip to the cinema for the latest box-office hit.

Laura shook her head with a smile as the exited the theater and John continued to list each and every incorrect aspect of the movie—from how the Hollywood heartthrob had somehow managed to survive six days without a drop of water, to the ex-model's dramatic proclamation that polar bears would be extinct by the end of the year.

"Honestly, the fact that they can pass that crap off as truth and people actually buy it makes me want to take over the movie industry myself," he huffed as they made their way down the street. He offered Laura his arm and she took it, loving the feel of his warm torso pressed against her side.

"You should become a director," she told him jokingly, letting out a shameless laugh when she caught sight of the face he pulled. "You're already a doctor and a more or less a detective—why not just add another profession to the list?" she asked, and he raised an eyebrow in response.

"Take a look at my sleep pattern and you'll have the answer to your question right there," John told her, pulling her closer as the cold wind began to pick up.

"Maybe once you retire, then," she suggested, and he snorted.

"You mean if I retire," he corrected, and the slight grimace that flitted across his face made it clear that he was only half-joking.

"Judging by your diet and all the exercise you get gallivanting around with Sherlock, you'll probably out live us all," she told him, and he looked down at her seriously.

"You know that isn't what I meant," he told her, and she looked away, pretending to marvel at the shops lining the street and the heavy rainclouds pressing down overhead. "Laura, my life, what I do with Sherlock…it's dangerous; you can't ignore that," he said gently, but she shook her head.

"Just because it's happening doesn't mean I have to think about it," she murmured, repeating the words that had been her personal motto since the age of seventeen when her life had really begun to spiral out of control. It was a while before John responded, and when he did, he sounded so quiet and distant Laura wasn't even sure if his words were meant for her ears.

"Laura…Laura, I wish there was something I could do," he said, and his tone drew her gaze back to him.

"I don't know what you mean," she said thickly, tears beginning to pool in her eyes. He gave her a sad smile, slipping his hand around hers as they turned onto her street.

"You don't have to tell me everything. Or anything, really," he told her as they neared her door, turning to face her when they reached the doorstep. "But when you're ready to talk, I'll be ready to listen." Laura stared up at him, searching his dark blue eyes for any sign of dishonesty. When Laura found none, she felt as if something had suddenly broken inside of her, a warm sticky substance seeping from the crack and spreading throughout her entire body.

"I want to help you get past whatever it is that's holding you down," John said earnestly. "I want you to be happy again," he finished. And that's when that something, whatever it was inside of her, shattered.

Laura gripped the front of John's jacket with both hands, the cold metal of the zipper biting into her palms as her fingers curled into fists around the leather. He stumbled forward, his dark blue eyes wide with surprise as she pressed a shameless and urgent kiss against his mouth. Ignoring all pretenses, Laura roughly pushed her tongue between John's lips and released one bunched fist to grip the back of his head, pulling his mouth even closer to hers. John responded immediately, pressing his entire body against hers until her back was flat against the door. She tugged at his hair, and grinned into the kiss when he let out a growl and pushed her even harder against the wooden panel.

Suddenly aware that they were still in public and that snogging so heatedly on a busy street was something Irene would probably do, Laura broke the kiss and pulled away from John. His eyes blinked open slowly, and his labored breathing mixed with hers in the light rain that neither had noticed as they'd kissed. "Come inside," she whispered against his lips without thinking— without wanting to think. Laura smiled when John nodded.

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**A/N: Ooo I _wonder what happens next! It totally isn't obvious where this is leading..._**

**Next chapter: we get to the _totally not obvious_ stuff this chapter is clearly _not_ leading up to :)**


	11. The Fear

**A/N: And now for the resolution to that huge cliff hanger at the end of the last chapter! I'd originally written this as two chapters but seeing as the first section is super short I combined them. So...enjoy John and Laura's ****_steamy_**** encounter**

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"Do you want anything to drink?" Laura asked as she led John into her flat, shrugging off her coat and hanging his up as well. She then led him to the living room, gesturing for him to take a seat.

"I'll take whatever you've got," he said politely as he lowered himself onto the couch.

"Wine it is, then," she said, heading into the kitchen. "Oh, and I've just gotten the most delicious merlot in the mail from my old roommate from uni," she told him as she reentered the room and sat beside him with two glasses and a rather expensive looking bottle.

"Today must be my lucky day," John said with that increasingly familiar illusive smile as he watched her pour the wine. Laura bit back an amused grin, watching John's gaze run along her legs as if he intended to remove the black tights from beneath her short skirt just by looking at them.

"I guess it is," she said, not taking her eyes off of him as she sat back and took a sip of wine. John let out a soft groan of pleasure when the liquid entered his mouth, and his eyes fluttered shut as he took a second sip.

"This is amazing," he said breathily when he removed the glass from his mouth. His tongue, now slightly purple, slipped out to slide slowly back and forth over his lips.

"Stop being such a tease," Laura joked, and he looked at her with a smile; but desire was just as evident in her voice as it was in his gaze. The moment their glasses were safely placed on the coffee table, John and Laura both reached for each other.

After a frantic scramble for physical contact, Laura found herself straddling John's thighs, her lips and tongue moving against his with the ferocious urgency of a starved lioness. Her hands were in his hair, and her fingers tugged mercilessly at the sandy locks as John's eager noises flooded her ears. His hands slid down her back to firmly grip her ass, and Laura's hips pushed forward instinctively in response to each invigorating squeeze he gave. She felt a rush of desire when she suddenly remembered there was more to John than just lips and hair—there were acres and acres of hot, pulsing skin still waiting to be explored. And tonight, Laura decided, would be the night she embraced her rightful role as conqueror.

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Laura broke the kiss, dipping her head to transfer her attentions to Jon's neck. He gasped as she began to suck and nip eagerly at the warm, tender flesh, his muscles tensing and his blunt fingernails digging into her ass. She removed her hands from his hair to pull at his collar instead, unbuttoning his shirt and dragging her hands up and down his bare torso.

"Oh, God," she heard him pant, and she smiled into the crook of his neck as it became more and more evident how much power she held over John. This was her doing—Laura was making him feel this way, Laura and Laura alone. And not only did John want her, she wanted him as well. This was her choice.

John's palms rutted against her tights when he slid his hands up her legs, the fabric chaffing her thighs as his hands slid beneath her skirt. Laura leaned back to pull her grey jumper over her head, a new energy seeming to erupt from within John at the sight of so much of her skin on display. She flashed him a devilish grin, reaching up to remove her hairclip and shaking out her dark curls with a sultry stare.

"Oh and I'm the tease?" he panted with an arched brow, and she laughed, wrapping her fingers around his writs. She pulled his hands forward, firmly placing one on the swell of her chest while bringing the other up to her face. One of Laura's straps fell from her shoulder as John pushed his fingers inside the lacy material of her bra to explore her breast, his touch gentle and caressing. A moment later his tongue flicked out to wet his lips as he watched Laura gently brush the fingers of his other hand along her lips.

"We can both be teases," she whispered breathlessly, before slipping two of his fingers into her mouth and lightly grazing the pads with her teeth. John gasped and his eyes fell shut as her tongue slid around and between his fingers, and the fingers of his other hand now dug into the flushed skin of her breast. Laura plunged his fingers completely into her mouth without warning, and John let out a low moan as she began to suck hungrily at them, her tongue rhythmically stroking up and down.

As if suddenly awoken from a daze, John jerked his fingers from her mouth and quickly unclasped and removed her bra. He then maneuvered so that Laura was pinned beneath him on her back, the two of them spread across the couch.

Her skin ached to be touched, and she greedily pulled him closer as his weight pressed her hips down into the soft leather. Laura's fingers explored John's shoulders and back, and she breathed in the generic-shampoo scent of his hair as he took his time kissing, licking, and nipping at her neck. One of his palms slid along her stomach as his other thumb skirted her nipple again and again, his mouth and hands working in tandem until every breath she released was accompanied by a moan. Then his hands were on her thighs and his mouth was on her stomach, and his breath tickled her bellybutton as he removed her skirt and tights in one quick motion. John pulled her violet underwear down to her knees, and then his lips began the slow progression down her lower abdomen. His fingers slid between her thighs, pushing downwards until they tickled her colitis.

And that's when Laura panicked.

Every muscle tensed as John's fingers made contact with the skin there, and her mind was suddenly flooded with memories she'd spent over a decade trying to forget. Her thighs clenched shut and she kicked out blindly, doing all she could to get away from that familiar feeling that always came before the pain and tears. Laura scrambled up from the couch and away from John, running her hands through her dark, tangled curls in an effort to calm down. She kept her gaze fixed on the hardwood floor—she was far too afraid of what expression John's face had taken on to even chance a look in his direction. She could remember the first boy she'd been with after running away from her life with Irene, and the way he'd looked at her as if she was broken and not worth saving was forever burned into her mind.

"I'm sorry," she panted, the bitter taste of tears had already begun to creep into her voice. The last thing she wanted to do was cry, but the prickling behind her eyes told her it was inevitable. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, then let out a startled whimper when a set of fingers gently wrapped around her wrists and pulled downwards. Laura slowly lifted her eyes to meet John's gaze, letting out a gasping laugh of relief at his expression. His eyes were kind and concerned—there wasn't a single trace of distain on his face. He lifted a hand to her cheek, his thumb swiping away a tear she hadn't noticed escape her eyes.

"Don't apologize," he whispered, and her throat felt even tighter as the sincerity of his voice reached her ears. "You haven't done anything wrong," he insisted when Laura's tears began to flow faster and harder.

"I wanted to…" she began, but her breath caught and her voice faltered. "I really did; but I…I couldn't, I just…" she trailed off into sobs, and he pulled her into a hug.

"It's ok," she heard him murmur into her hair, his fingers running through her dark locks in a way that was soothing and calming, completely devoid of any sexual undertone. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder as he continued to whisper softly in her ear.

"If there are some things you aren't comfortable doing, I'm ok with it. I'd never want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with," he murmured, and she tightened her grip on around his waist instinctively, determined to keep him close. Laura had never been put first in her entire life—everyone and everything she'd ever known had always revolved around Irene, with Laura serving simply as an afterthought. Now, standing here with tear-streaked cheeks, completely naked in the arms of a man who was willing to wait for her, Laura knew what it was to be loved.

Even if he hadn't said it, even if he never would—because despite how open John seemed to be about his feelings, she knew his track record suggested he wasn't experienced with committed romantic relationships, so proclamations of love weren't all that likely— she knew John cared, more than anyone ever had. Perhaps what they had wouldn't be seen as love in the eyes of an outsider, or even John's; but to Laura, it was more than enough.

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**A/N: So, what's the deal with Laura? and how does john always manage to be so damn adorable? all these questions and more (actually just the first one since the second one will forever be a mystery) will be answered...soon!**

**Next chapter: SHERLOCK'S BACK! and i actually really like this next chapter so you won't have to worry about me complaining again :)**


	12. Undisclosed Desires

**A/N: Sherlock's back, and this time his thoughts are less centered around his self-pity and and more on...well, you'll see. This is one of my favorite chapters although I'm not really sure why...maybe it's the johnlock shipper in me. Now you're really intrigued, aren't you?**

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Sherlock wanted to take John in the palm of his hand, to stroke and twist and jerk until the army doctor let lose all the indecent noises that had haunted Sherlock's dreams for the past month and a half. He wanted to shove himself into John, to thrust and push and feel the smaller man buckle under his weight, the two of them swaying back and forth to the music of Sherlock's own breathless pants. He wanted to rub his fingers into the soft, muscular flesh of John's thighs, to place hot open-mouthed kisses on his lower back, and to suck at the skin of his nipples until they were hard beneath his tongue.

Sherlock thought of all these things and more as he continued to stare in the general direction of the doorway where John now stood. John had arrived home early yet again. Sherlock still found himself expecting John not to return home until late morning, although the army doctor consistently got back from his dates with his girlfriend around half past two. He considered inquiring as to why the date had ended early, the same way he had that first night John hadn't stayed out all night despite the fact that he'd assured Sherlock he wouldn't be home until morning. However, that inquiry had led to a rather heated argument between a jealous Sherlock and a defensive and confused John. He supposed he might as well keep quiet, seeing as he was sure he already knew more about the subject than John ever would.

However, his mind was still preoccupied with the stirring images he'd taken to imaging whenever John wasn't around—and sometimes unwittingly when he was. He watched John remove his jacket and toss it on the back of a nearby chair, and absently wondered for the twelfth time why on earth these strange feelings had suddenly emerged within him. He'd always been in control of everything, able to pick and choose which sensations he wanted to give into; but now his body seemed to have taken on a life of its own, rebelling against his mind as it fought for complete control. It seemed that after all these years of ruling solely by reason, his emotions and urges were tired of being pushed aside and ignored. He supposed deep down, he'd always felt this way about John—but now, he was finding it more difficult than ever to trick his mind and body out of the intense attraction.

Of course he knew the answer to his question, he just hated to admit it: it was the fault of John's new lover. Every strange, unfamiliar, different, and uncomfortable event and feeling that had occurred since that fateful day at the Adler residence could be attributed to the existence of his flatmate's current love interest.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked, and the detective's fingers twitched as John approached and squatted beside him. Sherlock desperately wanted to launch himself from the chair and onto John, barreling him to the floor to then have his bloody way with him right then and there. Instead, he offered a dismissive reply in the hopes of getting John to leave him to his impossible fantasies.

"I'm fine," he muttered with a wave of his hand, and John gave him yet another look of confusion.

"You've been acting…strange lately," John said hesitantly, and Sherlock peered at him from the corner of his eye.

"So have you," he responded, and John shrugged as a ridiculous smile began to spread across his face. Sherlock hated to admit it, but this woman had clearly changed John—and for the better. He smiled more, laughed more, tolerated Sherlock's least hygienic experiments and rude behavior, and seemed to have exponentially more energy. The presence of this woman had improved John all around—and it bothered Sherlock to no end.

Cheering up John, giving him something to smile about—that had been Sherlock's job. He'd been the one to bring John back from the brink, to give him something worth living for. This woman was treading on his territory, taking what she had no right to come anywhere near. He'd been ok with the others leasing John physically—none of them had been permanent, and Sherlock hadn't even realized the full extent of his attraction to John at the time. But this woman…she was different.

Not only did she wield some sort of physical power over John (despite the fact that they clearly hadn't even had sex after being together for two months), she also owned him emotionally. And John's emotions were Sherlock's—no one else's. He was supposed to be the one helping John, but this woman had barged in (well technically he and John had been the ones to barge in on her, but Sherlock had never been one for technicalities. Actually he was very big on technicalities, but he deemed them irrelevant in this case) and taken over with no regard for Sherlock at all. Moreover, there wasn't even the slightest sign that her relationship with John would come to an end soon. It possessed none of the fundamental flaws all of John's past relationships had shared, and Sherlock was beginning to fear he'd never see the back of this particular lover.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you sure you're ok?" John's voice sounded dull and far away, like it was coming from the end of a tube tunnel.

"Of course I am," Sherlock muttered, pointedly turning away from John when he realized he'd been staring at the man for a full two minutes and thirteen seconds. When Sherlock showed no sign of offering an explanation for his behavior, John sighed and vacated the room, throwing a muffled "Goodnight" over his shoulder as he exited. Sherlock was left alone to retreat to his thoughts once more.

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**A/N: So probably not exactly what you expected based on last chapter's contents and my mention of Johnlock, but it was still pretty good, no? Anyway, next chapter: MY ALL TIME FAVORITE CHARACTER (other than John, of course) shows up and it's just going to be _fantastic_**


	13. Home Invasion Again

**A/N: ****I just love this chapter so muchhh! I honestly don't think my feelings can be expressed in this case without drawwwing out my wordds like thissss in that way that really annoys people :) I'm not going to ruin the surprise by telling you who shows up in this chapter (although you've probably already _deduced _it with the incredible powers of observation all Sherlockians possess. )**

* * *

They'd been dating for a little over four months when it happened. Laura was getting ready for bed, moving through her nightly routine as per usual while The Strokes played in the background. It was well past three in the morning, but she'd been free of work for the past week, and had taken to staying up with a good book or on the phone with John during her free time. Tonight, she'd watched re-runs of Britain's Got Talent until she'd finally decided to head to bed. Laura bobbed her head back and forth and hummed along to the music as she brushed her teeth, shaking her hips and bouncing from one foot to the other. She executed an impressive spin as she belted the last note into her hairbrush, then regained her composure when the song finally ended. Padding back into her bedroom, she reached across her bed for her iPod to find another song, but froze with her hand still outstretched when she heard the distinctive patter of shoes on tile.

Straightening up immediately, she willed her heart to slow its pounding as she strained to hear any additional noises. Laura had always been slightly paranoid, so when she didn't hear anything else she released her breath, figuring it was simply her mind playing tricks on her again. But when she heard another noise, much clearer this time, Laura knew she wasn't imagining these sounds. Hurrying over to her closed bedroom door, Laura twisted the knob and peeked out into the hallway. Everything was dark, just as she'd left it, and it was impossible to tell if anything was out of place. Knowing it would be ridiculous to phone Greg and the others at The Yard this late over a few noises, she took a deep breath to steel her nerves before stepping out into the hallway.

Laura desperately wanted to turn on the lights for comfort just as much as guidance, but didn't want to risk alerting the possible intruder. As disgusting as it sounds, it's probably just a rat, Laura told herself as she approached the kitchen. Sure, this flat was one of the most hygienic and well exterminated places she'd ever lived in, but there was a first time for everything, right?

Entering the kitchen, Laura's eyes widened as she strained to make out anything unusual by the dim light flooding in from the window above the sink. Not noticing anything out of the ordinary, Laura let out a sigh of relief as she turned back towards her room. But the sight of the man's silhouette blocking the doorway sent her stumbling backwards, and her head reeled as she tried to think of what to do. Laura instinctively reached for the nearest form of cutlery, a rather large carving knife, but stopped dead in her tracks when the man's familiar voice filled the room.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man said casually in his distinctly Irish accent as he approached, the reptilian smile on his face growing wider as he emerged from the shadows.

"Jim?" she gasped, all thoughts of attack disappearing as she stared into his face. It had been years since she'd last caught a glimpse of him, but she'd recognize the voice she'd spent hours listening to through supposedly sound-proof walls anywhere.

"I'd hoped you hadn't forgotten me," he said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his immaculately tailored suit as he continued to come closer.

"Why are you here?" she asked, suddenly defensive as something John had said long ago clawed its way to the front of her brain. Jim waited patiently as realization slowly washed over an exhausted Laura, her face twisting in anger.

"You're Jim Moriarty—the one who's been terrorizing John and Sherlock, who's killed all those people," she choked out, not wanting to believe the man who'd crept into her flat was actually a deranged murderer, but knowing it was true.

"The one and only," he replied with a boyish shrug, and she frowned at him in confusion.

"Why are you here?" she repeated, wishing she'd called Greg after all as she answered her own question aloud. "You're here to kill me, aren't you? Just to mess with John." Jim raised an eyebrow.

"You must think you're awfully important to him if you think I'd go through all that trouble just to hurt the little army doctor," he said, and Laura mentally kicked herself. Despite his façade of all-knowing criminal mastermind, Jim clearly had no idea just how close she and John had grown. But then again, why would he? Sherlock was his target, not John; terrorizing the army doctor had just been the means to an end—an end that hadn't arrived yet. But perhaps, now that he did know, Jim would use her feelings for John against her.

"So then what do you want?" Laura demanded, frustration and fear for John's safety adding an edge to her words.

"Tell me where Irene is," Jim said simply, and she blinked. She knew Irene and Jim had been close, and Laura could clearly remember the well-dressed young man visiting Irene's house almost once a week at one point. But Laura had never imagined they'd stayed in contact after she'd left.

"The world doesn't revolve around you," Jim said suddenly, the hairs rising on Laura's arms as she realized his words could be interpreted as a response to her thoughts.

"Yes, I know; it revolves around Irene," Laura spat out far more bitterly than she'd intended.

"Exactly," Jim said, stepping so close to Laura she could smell his expensive cologne. "So tell me where she is."

"I have no idea," Laura replied honestly, although she guessed her strong tone probably suggested otherwise. The smile began to fade from Jim's face.

"Oh but you do," he crooned, crowding Laura up against a set of cabinets. "I can smell it," he hissed, barring his teeth like a wild animal as he suddenly slammed her backwards into the cabinets.

"I don't know where she is!" Laura cried frantically, and Jim's eyes narrowed to tiny slits.

"Do not lie to me," he growled, and Laura glared at him; she was tired and afraid, and Jim's cologne was beginning to give her a headache.

"Even if I did know," she began, painfully aware of the fact that she was venturing towards dangerous territory, "I wouldn't tell you." Laura and Irene may not have had the best relationship, but there was no way she was going to help this murderous lunatic hunt down her sister for whatever reason. Jim's nostrils flared out as he took a deep breath, stepping away from her and swiping his palm over his perfectly styled hair.

"A very long time ago," he began, his voice strained and his fists clenching, "I promised him I'd never lay a hand on you," Jim said, his eyes closed in obvious concentration. Laura's heart had momentarily stalled at Jim's mention of 'him', and she found it increasingly hard to concentrate on the man before her as another monster's form danced before her eyes.

"But if you won't tell me where she is voluntarily, I might have to break that promise," she heard Jim mutter quietly, just before he lunged for her throat. Both of his hands wrapped around her windpipe and Laura instinctively reached up to claw at his fingers, even though she knew it was no use. Jim was taller and bulkier than her, his hands clearly at least twice as strong as hers.

What was more, she found she didn't really want to fight back in the first place. If Jim was back in her life, that meant that he was as well; hell, Jim had just mentioned him for goodness sakes. Laura had decided long ago that a life with him anywhere nearby wasn't one she wanted to live. She'd attempted suicide often enough in the past, but the one time she'd actually been ready to go through with it, Irene had stopped her. Now, it seemed she would get to die without having to do any of the dirty work; if anything, Jim was doing her a favor.

Laura's thoughts began to make less and less sense as her oxygen levels continued to deplete, the grim smile set on Jim's face making it clear that he had no intention of releasing his grip. Sure, he wouldn't get to find out where Irene was—but he was killing someone, and Laura was sure that gave him pleasure. Laura could hear her own gasping breaths begin to come fewer and farther in between, and as her vision finally darkened, Laura had one last conscious thought, a single name that she could have sworn formed on her lips even as she blacked out: John.

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**A/N: So, how'd you like it? I loved it, in case you were wondering. I'm very proud of my portrayal of Moriarty, so while I'm always eager for feedback please keep it to yourself if you think it was terrible; I'm in no mood to have my bubble burst! :)**


	14. The Morning After

**A/N: Don't worry Laura survived. I thought about writing "obviously Laura survived" but you never know, maybe in a random fit of angst I could have decided for this story to take a dark turn and MURDERED THE MAIN CHARACTER. But no worries, I'll leave the protagonist-slaughtering to Moffat-and Gatiss; he doesn't work alone, people! **

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When Laura awoke, her first thought was that someone must have replaced her wine with liquid fire and then punched her in the neck repeatedly; she could think of no other reason for why her throat ached and burned at such an intolerable level. As she slowly blinked open her eyes and found herself staring at one of the legs of the kitchen table, her memory gradually began to return to her. Pushing herself into a seated position on the tiles, she hacked and coughed as she tried to breathe through her crushed windpipe. Laura's arms flailed wildly as she struggled to get oxygen into her lungs, her hand unexpectedly making contact with her mobile. She unlocked it with shaking fingers, dialing the first number that came to mind. John answered on the second ring.

"Hey, Laura, I'm a bit busy, but—"

"John," she wheezed, clutching at the phone and ignoring an indignant cry she heard from his side of the line; Laura honestly didn't care how upset Sarah or any other doctor got if she'd interrupted John's shift at the surgery.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, his work clearly forgotten as his voice lost its distracted tone in favor of a slightly panicked one.

"He was here. Jim—Jim Moriarty," she gasped, and heard John mutter a furious curse under his breath.

"Are you alright? Has he hurt you?" John demanded, and she could hear the sound of an elevator door dinging open in the background.

"I…I don't know," she said honestly. Her throat hurt like the Dickens, and judging by the early morning sunlight drifting in from the window, she'd been passed out for at least three hours. "He tried to strangle me last night," she rasped, and heard John let out a startled yelp. "He's gone now, and I've just woken up," she continued, tears flooding her eyes as the full force of her experience hit her in the chest. "John…John he could have killed me," she cried, wincing as a stab of pain shot through her neck.

"Oh, God, Laura…Laura, Laura, I'm so sorry," she heard him mutter in that tone he used for the words Laura was never sure she was meant to hear.

"It's not your fault," she whispered, but her words were so soft and rough she could only hope he'd heard her.

"I'm on my way there now," he said, his breath now coming in short huffs. She could imagine him jogging out of the clinic to hail a cab, ignoring hospital regulations to abandon his shift without finding a replacement first.

"Ok," she said quietly, pulling her knees up to her chest and fingering the hem of her nightshirt as she let his soothing tone was over her.

"You're safe now," he continued, and she nodded, then winced as a pain shot through her neck. "But I don't want you to be alone, so I'm sending Sherlock to watch over you," he added in a rush. Laura opened her mouth to argue, but John continued before she could speak.

"I know you don't know each other very well, but it's going to take me at least forty minutes to get over there, and Sherlock's just down the road," he said reasonably, but his tone didn't manage to dispel Laura's displeasure. She knew Sherlock didn't like her—it was bloody obvious, and John had even told her as much. Of all the people to be stuck with after her attack, why did it have to be him? Laura considered telling John that she was perfectly fine on her own, but she didn't even attempt the lie. She was terrified and in pain, and needed someone to keep her from going crazy as much as she needed medical attention. Sherlock wouldn't have been her first choice for a companion, but she supposed he would have to do until John arrived.

"Alright," she croaked, and she heard John let out a relieved sigh on the other line after he gave her address to a cabbie. "I'll see you soon," he promised just before hanging up, and she smiled despite the throbbing pain in her throat and lingering fear at the thought of Jim so easily entering her home and assaulting her. Laura remained huddled on the floor even after John ended the call, lost in the memories that continued to resurge from the depths of her mind where she'd hidden them away years ago. Laura only rose from the tiles and wiped the tears from her cheeks when she was stirred by a knock on the front door.

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**A/N: (cue booming announcer voice) And now, for the moment you've all been waiting for: _Sherlock and Laura finally interact._ Anything could happen...**


	15. First Impressions

**A/N: So, after all this time, John's two significant others (whom he loves in two very different ways despite the fact they both seem to share very similar feelings for him) finally meet...**

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Sherlock was seriously annoyed. No, that was far too much of an understatement; he was perturbed, vexed, cross, peeved, and bothered. He'd been right in the middle of one of his most fascinating experiments to date when John had called, frantic and out of breath. Sherlock had risen and pulled on his coat immediately, fearing the worst, but all the fight had drained from him when John had mentioned her name. Sherlock had thought John was in danger, that he was in trouble and needed his help; but no, he simply wanted Sherlock to spend his valuable time babysitting his girlfriend. Now Sherlock stood before the door to her apartment, glaring at the dark blue paint and tapping his foot impatiently. If she was so distressed and needed him to comfort her, she could at least have the courtesy to open the door when he knocked…

Sherlock's eyes widened—inconspicuously, of course—in surprise when he caught sight of the woman suddenly standing before him. She shared a few of the same features as her sister, Sherlock observed, although her face wasn't quite as angular and she was noticeably shorter and curvier. She was more like one of the provocative librarians he'd come across while searching John's internet history six months ago than a dominatrix, he supposed. The oversized purple nightshirt she wore hung off of one of her shoulders, and the shirt's hem only brushed the midsection of her thighs. Her feet were clad in fuzzy red socks that rose up to cover her ankles, leaving the rest of her rather shapely legs on display. She tightly gripped the doorframe with one hand and held her other arm close to her body, standing slightly hunched and rigid; she was clearly both uncomfortable and afraid.

"Hello," he said, surprising himself when he offered her a small smile. She blinked up at him with light blue eyes, her dark brows furrowing slightly. He watched as a polite smile struggled to break free across her face but emerged as a grimace.

"May I come in?" he asked, and she nodded, stepping away from the doorway and allowing him to sweep in beside her. Sherlock looked down at her, peering at her neck.

"Sit down," he commanded, and she stared at him in confusion.

"Sorry, what?" she croaked with a frown, then burst into a fit of couching. Sherlock winced inwardly as he led her over to the couch, helping her sit down before fetching her a glass of water from the kitchen. She was in worse shape than he'd fooled himself into anticipating based on John's distressed voice over the phone; now it seemed he'd have to deal with the strange sensation of the sympathy he felt for her. Sherlock had spent months blindly hating this woman, but now that he was actually in her presence, he found that he could only muster up a strong apathy, if even that.

"Thanks," she rasped, and he watched her carefully for any sign of choking as she slowly swallowed the liquid. Sherlock squatted down in front of her, getting an unexpected thrill from the way her eyes widened when he suddenly lessened the distance between them. He pushed back one of her black locks as he reached for her neck, refusing himself the sudden urge to twist the dark, soft spiral around his fingers. She smelled faintly of flowers, and he supposed she must have used some sort of organic all-natural shampoo or lotion to make her skin appear so soft—there's no way it could have looked so inviting on its own. He moved his face closer to her neck, his eyes rapidly taking in the black and blue finger-shaped bruises that wrapped around her throat.

"Is it that bad?" she rasped with a slight smile, and he glanced up at her. "It's just that you look like you've seen a ghost," she told him, her expression sobering when he looked away quickly. "Have you seen marks like this before?" she asked, then added, "not just strangulation marks, but these in particular." She watched him closely, her blue eyes seeming to take in more information than most civilians as she observed, analyzed, and tried to understand. Sherlock found his intense dislike for her begin to fade a little more.

"Moriarty," Sherlock said simply, and she flinched at the name. "A man's three children were strangled in their beds in order to draw out their father who'd been under police protection," he said quietly, watching for her reaction. For some reason, he desperately didn't want to give her another reason to be upset—not specifically because he feared for its effects on her injury, but because of something else, something he couldn't quite place.

"What happened to the dad?" she whispered, her fingers now digging into the fabric of the couch.

"It worked. We found him the next day behind a dumpster, his throat slit." Laura let out whimper, her hands flying up to cover her mouth and her eyes wider than saucers.

"Irene…are you saying that's what's going to happen to her?" she demanded softly, although Sherlock knew they were both well aware of the answer.

"Let me examine your neck," he replied instead, and she allowed him to come closer once more but didn't let the topic drop.

"Why is she involved in all of this?" Laura asked, and Sherlock felt the slight vibrations of her words beneath his fingertips. He momentarily considered pulling away, seeing as he'd already observed everything he'd needed to upon first glance, but he loved the velvety soft feeling of her skin against his.

"I have no idea," he replied honestly, resting his fingers on the prints left behind by Moriarty's strong hands. "These marks…they're darker than normal, even though your skin doesn't seem to be particularly prone to bruising—no marks from where you fell. And the children he strangled had a similarly intense pressure applied to their necks, only for a longer amount of time; it's no mistake that Moriarty didn't kill you. But the children's father had been a friend of his who'd betrayed him, that's why he strangled them so savagely. This is clearly personal; did you know Moriarty?"

When she didn't respond immediately, Sherlock tilted his head upwards to look at her, only to see tears pooling in her eyes. He pulled away immediately, her tears making him incredibly uncomfortable and the hitch in her breathing not helping in the slightest. But despite the way her crying made his skin prickle, Sherlock found he could not look away.

"Why are you asking if you already know?" she said guardedly, and he raised a dark eyebrow at her. No one had ever spoken to him in that particular way, with a mix of confusion, awe, annoyance, and defiance. Sherlock was now officially intrigued.

"I don't know everything," he admitted, and she blinked in astonishment. It was clear she'd heard of Sherlock's' reputation for being less than humble; he hoped that this show of faith, of admitting that he wasn't perfect either, would encourage her to open up.

She was now watching him as well, as if gauging whether or not he could be trusted. He allowed himself an inward smile of satisfaction when, after a few moments of hesitation, she began to talk.

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**A/N: So. Sherlock doesn't hate Laura quite as much as he thought...**

**And just as a side note, I feel like my title for this chapter was quite clever; impressions-get it? like the marks on her...oh, never mind.**

**Next chapter: we finally get a peek into this_ tortured past_ Laura keeps alluding to!**


	16. Secrets

**A/N: So I'm going out of town for three weeks tomorrow and won't have regular access to a computer, which means I won't be able to update daily for a while :( So I'll put up the next chapter tomorrow, and then just upload two chapters each week from my phone (gotta love iphones!) until I get back home! Sound good? Well even if it doesn't you'll just have to deal with it. Anyway, on to the chapter!**

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Laura pulled her legs up underneath her on the couch, tugging down on her nightshirt so that it stretched over her knees down to her calves. She hugged her legs close to her body, refraining from resting her chin on her knees when the throbbing that had subsided with Sherlock's touch returned full-force. She watched him now, squatting on the floor just before her with his huge, alien blue eyes dancing across her face and neck, taking in everything at once.

His long, pale fingers were steepled, and his full pink lips were pressed against them as he watched her expectantly. She considered delaying answering his question even more to instead simply stare at his unusual appearance until John arrived, but as her heart rate increased it became clear to Laura that that wasn't an option. After over a decade of keeping what had happened to her a secret, she found that her body couldn't turn away the opportunity to confide in someone. Even the pain she felt in her throat was no match to her body's determination to voice her secret.

"The first time I saw Jim, I was sixteen," she began, watching as Sherlock's expression changed from observant to actively listening; he really was a fascinating creature, unlike any human being she'd ever encountered. Laura forced herself to pull her mind back to the conversation at hand.

"I came home from school on a sunny Thursday afternoon, and as I walked past the drawing room I saw him there, seated on the couch. He was wearing a nice dress shirt and sports coat and held himself as if he was someone to be reckoned with—or at least he thought he would be someday. He was talking with Irene, and as she hated it whenever I interrupted her at work, I just kept on walking and didn't think twice about it. She was trying to get her business started and was having trouble finding a reliable person in the same business to sponsor and support her; I simply assumed Jim was the man she'd found to fill that position—and he was. He stopped by often to converse with Irene, but never seemed to take notice of me, and I hardly realized he was there most of the time. I only knew him as Jim, and didn't make the connection between him and the Moriarty John had told me about until last night. "

Laura bit down hard on her lip when she finished, straining to keep her emotions in check as the events of that first day she'd seen Jim were dredged up from the dark rooms of her mind she kept under lock and key at all times. Occasionally little bits of memory would escape just to terrorize her, but opening the doors to put a voice to her past was almost more than she could bear.

"And then what?" Laura started at the question she'd known Sherlock would ask—those words she'd dreaded since she'd decided to explain her connection to Moriarty.

"I only caught glances of him after that," she said in her most measured tones, not meeting Sherlock's eyes.

"Yes I know," Sherlock said impatiently with a roll of his eyes, and Laura shot him a glare. It was startling how different this man was from John despite the fact that they'd lived together for almost a year now; clearly John's patience and general understanding of the fact that there were just some things Laura didn't want to talk about hadn't translated over to Sherlock. "I want to know what happened next; who was the other man you met that day?" he asked, and she gaped at him. John had told her countless tales of how Sherlock's impossible knowledge of places and people had revealed the evidence needed to break a case; but to have him use his gifts against her was as impressive as it was unpleasant.

"I'll tell you on one condition," she told him, and he arched an eyebrow but nodded anyway.

"I won't tell John," Sherlock said, and Laura felt as if her unspoken request needed further explanation—although his opinion shouldn't have mattered to her, she didn't want Sherlock to think she made a habit of keeping things from John.

"Look, it isn't that I don't want him to know eventually. It's just that…well, I'm not ready to tell him yet," she said quietly. It was because Sherlock's' opinion of her didn't matter that she felt she could tell him, she assured herself. She didn't care if he thought of her as broken and worthless—or at least she wouldn't have an hour ago. Now, with him sitting here before her in a way that was almost civil, she was beginning to wonder how exactly she felt about the unconventional detective.

"I understand," Sherlock said with a dismissive wave of his hand, leaning forward eagerly like a child waiting for an exciting new story. She had no idea why he was so interested in what happened that day—it had nothing to do with Irene, whom he'd been so keen on locating that first day she'd found him in her sister's house. But Laura desperately needed to get it off of her chest, the secret that had been plaguing her for years straining to emerge.

"Ok, here goes nothing," she muttered under her breath, then noticed that he was still squatting before her on the ground.

"Do you want to sit?" she asked, gesturing to the adjacent chair. Sherlock looked surprised, as if he hadn't noticed his peculiar position, and rose gracefully from the ground before lowering his long body down onto the seat. He nodded in her direction once he was seated, and she took one last deep breath before beginning her tale.

* * *

**A/N: what's this? A real life, actual pseudo cliff-hanger? Tune in tomorrow for a glimpse at the events that Laura pretty much let define her until she met John (and Sherlock too I guess)**


	17. The Beginning of the End

**A/N: Here's that cliff-hanger resolution you ordered! G****et your bathing suits ready people; we're about to _dive_ into the past! :D I am so cheesy sometimes I wonder how I manage to come up with stories that _aren't_ utter crap... the universe works in strange and mysterious ways, people (I am very much proof of this)**

* * *

"I left Irene and Jim alone in the drawing room and headed to the kitchen for a snack, leaving my backpack by the front door. I went straight for the refrigerator and had already grabbed some yogurt before I noticed the other man in the room," Laura said, her voice giving out suddenly. She'd managed so far without too much difficulty, but the sudden realization of exactly what she was doing—relaying the events of one of the most traumatic days of her life to a man she hardly knew—had caused the pain in her throat to flare up.

She began to cough, and reached for the glass of water at the same moment Sherlock did. Their fingers brushed, hot and small against cold and long, and she couldn't help but let out a tiny gasp of surprise at his sudden touch. They both paused, the glass suspended between them, and their eyes met over the water for just a moment before Sherlock released the glass and Laura brought it to her lips. She averted her eyes as she took greedy gulps.

"Not too fast," Sherlock warned gently— an adjective she'd never thought could be associated with the seemingly emotionless detective—and she paused mid-drink. She stared at him over the rim of her glass, and saw that despite his kind tone, his eyes were wide and slightly wild. Laura turned away from him abruptly and continued on with her story.

"The other man in the room smiled at me, his straight white teeth flashing and his brown eyes scanning me with a hunger so primal I should've run right then. But I'm not afraid to admit that I liked the way he looked at me from his perch on the counter a few feet away. It sent a hot rush through my entire body, and I never wanted anything to pull his openly carnal gaze away from me. That was the look men always gave Irene, the men who always ignored me in favor of watching her. But Irene wasn't there—it was just he and I in the kitchen, and I was the one he was staring at.

"Anyway, he stood and came closer, his eyes on me the entire time as he introduced himself as Sebastian Moran, a friend of Jim's. I was shy and nervous, but Sebastian was talkative enough for the both of us and didn't seem to mind my awkwardness. He asked me about my hobbies, my friends, my school work; he seemed keen to know about all the things no one had ever taken any interest in before. I have to admit that after a while I didn't hear a word he said as we conversed; once I was no longer required think of clever answers to his questions, I just marveled at his devilishly handsome face and form as he talked. He was tall, tanned, and muscular, with a strong jaw and I quick smile; I'd never come across anyone who so perfectly embodied the term 'classically handsome'.

"And I'm sure he didn't pay much attention to my words either, as his eyes constantly drifted to the skin exposed by my short plaid skirt and my uniform shirt with the first two buttons loose. After about half an hour of talking his fingers lightly brushed my bare arm and he leaned in a bit closer, asking if he could see my room. I just sort of stared at him for a moment, and he added that he knew I might think him too forward, but he thought I was beautiful and desperately wanted to kiss me—just not in public. He was a bit shy too, he said, and that made me smile. As manipulative as his words and actions seem to me now, they were music to my ears back then.

"I'd gone my whole life with no one paying me any attention; my parents, who I was convinced hadn't loved me at all, had just been killed in a helicopter accident; Irene, who'd consequently gained responsibility over me and had once been my closest friend, spent all of her time trying to distance herself from me as much as possible; and here was this gorgeous and charming man, at least five years older than me, telling me he wanted to kiss me. I'd never had such good luck in my life and thought a similar opportunity would surely never arise again. So I let him. I let him do much more than that, leading him up to my bedroom and locking the door behind us as he continued to murmur sweet lies in my ear.

"As things got more heated and my uniform made its way to the floor, I quickly realized no matter how shy Sebastian wanted me to think he was, he was certainly far more straightforward about what he wanted than I'd anticipated. When I asked him to slow down, Sebastian ignored me and plowed on like a wild bull intent on reaching his destination. He later told me that he had a thing for Catholic school girls, that he hadn't been able to resist me, that he'd been so caught up in the moment that he hadn't heard me pleading for him to stop. I tried to get away but he grabbed onto me, his fingers closing down on my wrists so hard I was sure I could hear the bones shattering. He pinned me down on the bed and panted that he needed me, that it wouldn't hurt at all, and that it would make him love me. At the mention of love, the thing I'd craved insatiably my entire life, my willpower began to weaken. I…"

Laura paused, talking a deep breath and resting her throat for a moment as she willed herself to go on. Her story was almost over, she thought. Or at least this first part was; she had no intention of relaying to Sherlock each and every event that had occurred between she and Sebastian over the course of those two years.

"He began to…well he had sex with me. I just lay there, squeezing my eyes shut and crying out as I tried to make it through the most intense pain I'd ever experienced, just counting down the seconds until it was all over. There was nothing beautiful, loving, or romantic about it. Sebastian clearly enjoyed himself, his face split into a wolfish grin as he collapsed onto my bed beside me, his muscles heaving under a thin sheen of sweat. But I couldn't move; I wanted to take a scalding hot shower, to claw off my skin and burn away all the dirt and grime I felt was caked to my body with acid. Instead I let him kiss me on the neck and run his hands through my hair as he whispered about how beautiful I was. He told me that he loved me, and despite the shame and disgust I felt all the way down to my core, I believed him."

"That afternoon was the beginning of the worst two years of my life," Laura said quietly, clutching onto the nearly empty water glass as she stared down at the floor. She glanced up at Sherlock, who was watching her intently, a strange look on his face. "I've told you what happened that first day. I don't see how it's related to you finding my sister, and I don't want to talk about the rest of it," she told him flatly, her emotions raging so violently within her she'd resorted to shutting them off completely. Sherlock's expression gave no sign that he'd registered her last few words. His brow was slightly furrowed and his eyes were narrowed, as if he was trying to navigate his way through a particularly confusing puzzle in his own head.

At that moment an urgent knock sounded at the door, and Laura gave a start—but Sherlock didn't even blink. Clambering up from the couch, Laura hurried across the flat and opened the door, flinging her arms around John's shoulders the moment the pesky wooden panel was out of her way. She buried her face in his neck, tears flowing from her eyes and sobs rocking her body as she clung desperately to him. "My god, what did he do to you?" she heard John murmur in a mix of fury, fear, and worry.

Laura wasn't entirely sure who John was talking about. Her mind instantly flew to Sherlock, and she couldn't help but think his presence had actually softened the blow of facing her memories. Then she realized John had to have been referring to Jim; John had no idea about Laura's intervention with Sherlock. But, despite this realization, she couldn't help but think John somehow knew she'd confided in his flatmate, and wanted to be let in on her secret past as well.

'What did he do to you?' had morphed into 'what did you say to him, and why can't I know?' in her mind, and she shoved away a surge of guilt. Laura snuggled closer to John as he wrapped his warm, strong arms around her, his fingers stroking through her hair in that soothing way she loved. Eventually I'll tell him, Laura thought as John murmured gentle and calming words in her ear. But as she listened to the sounds of Sherlock making tea in her kitchen, the cabinets slamming shut and utensils clanking against flatware, she wasn't so sure if she could ever let John know the truth.

* * *

**A/N: What's this? Laura reveals something to Sherlock but can't bring herself to tell John? Could this theme of Laura and Sherlock_ sharing things in secret_ possibly reemerge somewhere later on in the story? Only time will tell... :)**


	18. Holiday Cheer

**A/N: Christmas is finally here, but the gaiety of the season seems to be lost on Sherlock...so of course he decides to go and ruin the whole party for everyone. That's right: Irene's back, people!**

* * *

Sherlock had always detested parties, and this year's Christmas celebration was no different. Having to feign interest as countless guests prattled on about their terribly dull and mundane lives, having to enlist John or Mrs. Hudson to pick out and wrap a gift that he could later scribble his name onto, having to spend hours cooped up in the same boring room with the same boring people… there were few things Sherlock despised more than parties. However, this particular party proved to be far more engaging than the detective had anticipated.

For one, John's girlfriend had arrived early in order to help Mrs. Hudson and John decorate. Sherlock had pretended to work diligently on his laptop, while in reality he'd spent the entire time observing the way she interacted with John. They were all smiles and shameless flirtations, and would have seemed completely at ease and in love to an untrained eye. But Sherlock could tell from the way John's grip was extra tight on the ladder he'd held steady for Laura that the man was deeply worried about her. And Sherlock knew for sure that John's girlfriend was keeping a rather large secret from John, the guilt clear—to Sherlock at least—in the way she'd repeatedly cast wary glances in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock would pointedly ignore her gaze every time her eyes drifted towards him, although he couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking when she looked at him. Sherlock was less than proud of the images that flashed through his mind whenever he snuck a peak at her. She wore a deep burgundy sweater dress with sleeves that stopped just below the elbows, and Sherlock had found himself disappointed that she wore brown tights beneath what would have been a delightfully revealing dress otherwise.

John had seemed to appreciate the way the fabric accentuated her curves just as much as Sherlock did, John's eyes wandering constantly and his hands sliding along the material whenever Mrs. Hudson's back was turned. She let John touch her without hesitation, Sherlock observed, and he wondered just what he'd have to do to get her to give him that kind of leeway. He wanted to touch that neck again, and to explore the other skin he knew had to be at least just as soft. It was all there, just out of reach; his only barriers were her conscience and her clothes—get past those and he could have her. Getting past a few pesky pieces of fabric would be easy; it was the prospect of winning her heart so that she wouldn't feel so wrong about allowing him to explore her body that required a bit more thinking. He wouldn't force her into doing anything against her will, of course; but he was confident that, if given enough time, he could easily make himself the object of her desire.

But Sherlock wasn't only envious of the army doctor's privileges—he was jealous of John's girlfriend as well. She could stare at John with love and longing written all over her face, place chaste kisses on his cheek in the presence of his landlady, and snog him eagerly when Mrs. Hudson went downstairs to check on the biscuits. Sherlock had felt a jealousy like nothing he'd ever known bubble up in the pit of his stomach when she pulled John by the collar of his jumper to a hallway where she thought Sherlock couldn't see them the moment Mrs. Hudson vacated the flat.

Sherlock had longed to run his hands up and down John's chest the way she did, to feel the army doctor's tongue slide against his lips before exploring the mouth he clearly knew by heart. Sherlock had wanted to tug at his hair just the way John liked, to feel his hands on his arse as John lifted him off the ground and pushed him up against the wall with a grunt. He had wanted to be the one to leap away from John when Mrs. Hudson re-entered the flat, and to have to pry John's hands away from his body as they went back to work. Sherlock had wanted to be in her shoes.

Even now, as he sat alone in his bedroom and cautiously regarded the camera phone in his hands, he found himself wishing he wasn't Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective who'd just been handed the end of one of his most stimulating cases yet.

Sherlock found it significantly harder than expected to explain the contents of his unwanted Christmas gift to the guests of the party. He'd instantly known everything he was going to say after ending his phone call with Mycroft, but voicing the words themselves, and speaking them aloud to a group no less, was far more difficult than he'd been prepared for. Sherlock avoided the collective gaze of the guests as he spoke, and focused on counting the long, painful seconds after his short speech during which no one moved.

Lestrade was the first to react to Sherlock's news, falling back on his police training as he tried to restore a sense of order to the shocked and no longer merry partiers. He made a few calls of his own, then returned to the deathly silent living room with a heavy sigh. He refused to look at John's girlfriend, but his words were clearly directed towards her.

"If you don't mind, we'd like it if…uhm, well it would be great if you could come down to the morgue…you know, to make sure it's…well…" Lestrade trailed off uncomfortably, looking down at his shoes and making it clear that he desperately wished he hadn't been placed in this position. Sherlock watched with a frown as she shook her head adamantly.

"No. I'm sorry, but… I can't. I can't see her, not like that," she told him, then bit down on her lip. Sherlock knew she must've realized that refusing would just make things harder for everyone at The Yard. But he could tell by the way she wrapped her arms around her middle and shifted closer to John that there was no way she could look at her sister like that, lifeless and naked on a metal slab in a bright, barren room.

"Have Sherlock do it," she said, looking up at him hopefully from across the room. Sherlock started, not having expected to hear his name on her lips. It sent a strange thrill through his body, which he promptly ignored; he was working, and this was no time for distractions. Besides, The Woman was far more interesting than these strange sensations, he told himself. Of course that wasn't exactly true, he knew, but it helped him focus. Or at least it should have. "You were so enthralled with Irene that I'm sure you haven't deleted even the most obscure things about her from your memory. You're probably more qualified to identify him than I am," she said, tears beginning to well in her eyes as she pleaded with him. She really can't do this, Sherlock realized, and he found himself nodding before he'd even weighed the pros and cons of accepting her request.

John and his girlfriend both looked up at Greg, who shrugged. "There's nothing in regulations against it, so I'm fine with it. Really whatever works best for everyone is what's best for me," he said agreeably, and Sherlock watched her give him a watery smile of thanks.

"Off to the morgue it is, then," Molly said a little too cheerfully, looking away when Mrs. Hudson cast her an odd look. Molly returned Mrs. Hudson's polite hug goodbye a few moments later, then pulled John's girlfriend into a bear-hug. Sherlock watched as she rested her head on Molly's bare shoulder, their arms wrapped tight around each other's small frames. He knew they were quite close, the two of them both rather friendless and havingbonded over their similar taste in novels novels almost the moment they'd met. However, seeing this shameless display of emotion, of friendship and support, made Sherlock's stomach twist uncomfortably. He realized with a silent huff of frustration that he wanted that too: a genuine, friendly hug, devoid of any sexual tension or ulterior motives.

He turned away when John kissed her on the cheek, but couldn't block out the sound of John's voice promising in a gentle whisper that he would call her later on that night.

As he led Molly, John, and Lestrade, out of the flat and onto the street, Sherlock wondered just how many other things he was in want of that he just hadn't picked up on yet—and if he'd ever actually manage to obtain any of them.

* * *

**A/N: So. Definitely going down in history as the _best_ Christmas party ever, right? I mean, come on; it doesn't get any _better_ than hearing that your sister's been found dead! **

**I really hope you guys are picking up on my sarcasm here, otherwise I'm afraid I'm coming off as a really messed up person...**


	19. Delayed Reaction

**A/N: So Laura seemed relatively calm at the party, no? The same can't be said once she's in the privacy of her own home...**

* * *

Laura was still awake at 3:02 AM when her mobile started to vibrate. Her voice was heavy with exhaustion as she answered John's call, but she knew it would be quite a while before she was able to sleep soundly again. At least I'm not sobbing hysterically, Laura thought blandly as she held the phone to her ear. She'd suspected for a while now, but Sherlock's words the previous week about the father with the strangled children had eradicated all doubt. Laura was pretty sure even Abigail had known something was up too, the redhead having moved back to Ireland with an attitude more like a widow than a scorned lover when Irene hadn't returned after three weeks.

But prior knowledge did little to soften the blow of the words, "Laura…Laura, it was her at the morgue; Irene's dead," transmitted over a telephone line. Even though she'd known for weeks, even though it had been undeniable the moment Sherlock had found the mobile phone, Laura still felt the same shock she'd felt fifteen years ago when her had parents died. She'd managed to hold herself together relatively well at the party, but here, in the privacy of her own bedroom, Laura allowed herself to fully process John's words.

Everything was a blur and suddenly no fact was concrete; in a world where there was no longer an Irene, where her one constant no longer existed, how could anything else be definite? If her sister, a woman whom she hadn't talked to in years but had always known was still there, could be taken from this world in an instant, what could she possibly rely on?

But then, Irene hadn't really been in the best of circumstances, had she? Jim Moriarty, a man whom Laura had always considered to be a friend of her sister's, had broken into Laura's house and nearly killed her—plus, she suspected he was responsible for Irene's death as well. Her sister had clearly been in some sort of trouble. These thoughts managed to break their way through the torrent of emotion that washed over Laura once again, her mind still racing despite the tears and dizziness.

"Laura? Laura, are you still there?" Suddenly remembering that she was still on the phone with John, Laura struggled to think of something to say. She was still here, but Irene wasn't—so what was the point? The one last person who'd still been there, even when Laura had desperately wished she wasn't, was gone.

"I'm still here. But I don't want to be," she said, her voice so pained and congested it sounded completely foreign to even her own ears. She heard John let out a sigh, and she imagined him covering his face with his hand, squeezing the bridge of his nose the way he did whenever he was under stress.

"Look, about the burial," John began, and Laura felt her entire body tense. She was only thirty-one and had already buried both parents; Laura didn't think she could handle planning another funeral, especially not Irene's. "I don't want you to think about anything related to the funeral," John told her, and Laura felt a tiny smile break through her tears.

"I'll take care of everything; you just…well I'm not sure what you should do. But I'll come over tomorrow, ok? We'll watch all the Doctor Who Christmas specials and make cinnamon buns," he told her, and her smile widened even as her tears began to flow faster. John wanted to do two of Laura's favorite things to keep her mind off of her sister's death; of course, the things that were Laura's absolute favorite had been, before the death of their parents, Irene's favorite things to do as well. But how could she possibly have expected John to know that if she refused to ever mention her sister at all?

"That sounds great," Laura sniffed, then added, "has anyone told Abigail?"

"She's next on my list," John told her. "Like I said, don't worry about anything—I've got it all worked out."

"And what about her possessions? All the furniture, the clothes, the house…" Laura squeezed her eyes shut at the idea of that big house void of Irene's presence, the complete strangeness of the thought causing her real, physical pain. She knew Irene wasn't coming back, but she couldn't bear the idea of someone else roaming the corridors, eating breakfast at the bar-style counter, sleeping in Irene's bedroom…

"All taken care of; Irene split everything equally between you and Abigail in her will," John said, his last few words hurried. "I've got to go, Sherlock will be back home in a minute. But I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

"Yep," Laura sighed, defeat clear in her voice.

"Ok, good. And Laura…I love you, ok?"

Laura smiled, wiping away a tear as a warm rush flowed through her entire body. It was strange how incredible it felt to have those three little words spoken to her by a person she knew, without a doubt, really meant them. Words that had once been a form of manipulation, that had once been a trap, now took on a new meaning.

"I love you too," she told him with a foolish grin as her nose began to run, then hung up and collapsed back onto the pillows.

It took Laura a few moment s to realize just why John had chosen that particular instance to voice his feelings for her. She'd known for some time that he loved her; she couldn't pinpoint a specific moment when it'd become clear to her, and she wasn't sure if it would even be possible to figure out just when they'd known. She and John had just clicked, from the very beginning, and had only grown closer as time went on; perhaps, as Irene would say—would have said—, it was just inevitable.

Irene…that's why John had told her he loved her. He'd been able to hear the pain in her voice, the way her will to live had suddenly drained to a terrifying low. As a doctor, Laura was sure John knew she'd attempted suicide more than once in the past. Even to an untrained eye the marks on her forearms were visible if one really looked. Plus, John had even run his fingers over the deeper, cruder scars in places conveniently kept hidden from the public by her clothes. She hadn't told him what had driven her to bouts of self-mutilation or what had led her to try and take her own life, but it was clear John thought such a devastating event could trigger those self-destructive and even suicidal thoughts once more.

Laura couldn't help but smile as it became more and more evident that John honestly did care about her—and wanted to make sure she knew as much, even if just to give her a reason to live. Suicide hadn't exactly been on her mind to her during their conversation, but she knew she had a long night ahead of her before John arrived, and that despair could drive her to anything here alone in her flat.

Maybe she didn't want to end it all now, but a few more hours thinking about how she'd never again see a single living family member may have brought the blade to her wrists a second time—without Irene bursting in to save her as she had before. But I'm here for you, John had said in those three little words. Even when everyone else left, drove her away, or was taken from her, John would always be there for her. He wasn't going anywhere, and for that reason alone, Laura could be sure that neither was she.

* * *

**A/N: Awww! So cute, in a strange my-sister-just-died-but-my-boyfriend-loves-me-so-it's-ok kind of way; but hey, you've got to make the best of what you have! When life gives you lemons...I'm not going to finish that sentence because I think the cliche might ruin my day (hey that rhymed!)**


	20. Time

**A/N: So, this chapter's kind of (really) short, but it's cute. Plus the next one's _super_ long so I guess they sort of balance out!**

* * *

"Do you want me to stay?" John asked as he returned to the couch balancing two glasses of milk and yet another cinnamon bun. Laura waited until he was seated next to her before snuggling up next to him, covering his legs with the blanket as they settled back into their standard tv-viewing position.

"It would be great if you did," she told him, grabbing his wrist and pulling it towards her to take a large bite out of the sticky sweet pastry. She then took his free hand in hers once more as the end credits scrolled across the screen and the DVD reverted back to its main menu.

"So is that a yes?" he asked with an arched brow through his last mouth-full of pastry. Laura looked up at him seriously.

"If you want it to be," she said with a shrug, and his gaze intensified at her words.

"I don't want to leave you here alone," he said, his fingers warm around hers as he stroked his thumb along the back of her hand.

"Then don't," she said with a smile, and his lips curved upwards in response.

"Great. So next DVD then?" he asked as he sucked the sugar from his fingers, gesturing with his chin to the large stack on the coffee table.

"You read my mind," she told him, leaning forward to sift through the combination of both of their Doctor Who DVD collections that took up almost all of the available table space.

* * *

"Sometimes I wish I had two hearts," John mused a few hours later as he climbed into her bed, and Laura smiled despite the circumstances. Her sister's body may just have been found, but her boyfriend—who loved her, by the way—was wearing one of her oversized t-shirts and voicing his desire to become a Time Lord. She giggled and rolled over to look up at him.

"You'd make a great Doctor, doctor," she said, unable to manage a straight face as she spoke the words. John grinned as he settled in next to her. She turned to face him, instinctively reaching out to touch his face. He continued to smile at her as she stroked his cheek, his skin irresistibly soft beneath her fingers.

"I wish Irene was still here," Laura blurted suddenly, and John's eyes softened as he reached out and took her other hand in his beneath the sheets. "I'd hardly even seen her for the last thirteen years; when I left when I was eighteen, I completely broke my ties to that house and to her, leaving everything behind and starting over. It was difficult, but having Irene there with me, still in my life, would only have made things harder. She'd stopped being the supportive and loving older sister she'd once been soon after our parents died, and having her around me only seemed to bring me more pain and heartbreak." John listened intently as she spoke, his hand warm, strong, and supportive around hers. "But even after everything I've been through, after everything she didn't do, I still wish she was still at least here on earth, living the lifestyle she'd sacrificed my wellbeing to maintain."

"We all want more time," John agreed, and although she knew he meant well, Laura felt as if he was oversimplifying her situation—but then again, he didn't even know anything about the events she was alluding to. Laura allowed the urge to talk to John about Irene, to finally get everything out in the open, begin to take hold of her. She'd revealed the tip of the iceberg to Sherlock, but the frozen mass beneath the surface still yearned to be exposed. Looking at the man in her favorite XXL uni t-shirt, his eyes soft and inviting, she knew this was the time to finally expose herself.

* * *

**A/N: So, after reading this chapter, I bet you guys would _never guess_ what my favorite TV show is :)**

**Next chapter: Laura finally exposes herself (in case that wasn't clear)**


	21. Fully Exposed

**A/N: So I know I said two chapters a week, but since this one's the lenght of three chapters combined, I think it'll be enough to last you guys until I get back home :) Once you've read this, you'll officially know all about Laura's past! Congrats! But don't worry, that doesn't mean the story's anywhere close to being over; Irene's still dead at this point for goodness sake!**

* * *

Laura began by telling him everything she'd told Sherlock, taking in the way John's face transitioned from wary to horrified as her story progressed. Once she'd finished relaying the events of that first day, she began to explain all that happened afterwards.

"Sebastian came by the house often after that," she began, and John's expression darkened.

"I really don't like where this is going," he muttered as he scooted closer to her and she allowed him to drape his arm over her waist.

"It only gets worse," she assured him quietly, and he ran his fingers through her hair.

"I spotted Jim rarely at first, although his visits increased as time went on, but Sebastian was a regular visitor. He would always be there waiting for me when I returned home from school, and would arrive at all hours of the night at my window on weekends. At first he was romantic, bringing flowers and continuing the shy, cautious routine that I eagerly ate up. I was genuinely convinced that Sebastian was kind and gentle, and that the way he'd treated me in my room on that first day had just been a result of his inexperience. I'd overwhelmed him, I told myself; I forced myself to ignore the sense that he was dark and dangerous, and told myself that there was nothing more to it than that."

"It's times like these when a TARDIS would be very helpful," John muttered, and Laura offered him a weak smile. "If I could go back in time and stop him, I would," he continued, and when Laura looked up into his face she saw that he was being completely serious.

"I don't care what kind of damage it would do to the space-time continuum or whatever. I would do anything to keep him from doing what he did, from hurting you. I would stop him before he could ever lay a hand on you," John said, his voice tight with a deep, honest anger.

Laura tightened her grip on his hand, leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. He looked significantly calmer afterwards, and Laura felt she could continue on with her story without having to worry about John attacking a pillow in a fit of rage.

"He was a pretty good boyfriend at first, but after about a month or two, things changed. The romantic gestures dwindled and then stopped altogether, and he no longer spoke to me with the same sweet, almost reverent tone. He expected me to allow him to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, and he even began to treat me like his property, completely ignoring my requests, wants, and most of all fears."

John was biting down on his bottom lip, his expression a strange mix between ager, worry, and self-loathing. "I wish there was some way I could have stopped this, kept him from doing these things to you," John exclaimed, his voice so vehement Laura considered ending her story for the night.

"John, it isn't your fault," she told him gently, and he sighed in agitation.

"I know, but…" he trailed off and shook his head in frustration. When he didn't continue, Laura picked up where she'd left off.

"Sebastian had wanted to have sex often from the very beginning of our flawed relationship, but had settled for violating me only once a week. But once he'd given up on pretending to be a decent man, he shagged me whenever he bloody well pleased, and with such ferociousness that I was often left with various scratches and bruises. I hated what he did to me but I was convinced he loved me, that he couldn't help what he did, and that I should just let him do it because that's what you did when you loved someone. At least that's what he'd told me—everything I knew about love I learned from him."

John let out a grunt of displeasure, his face twisted and upset; but he didn't speak, and so Laura continued.

"Irene was well aware of what was going on. At first I thought she was just incredibly naïve, not noticing the bruises on my wrists from being pinned down, or the awkward way I walked on Sunday mornings and winced whenever I sat down. But one afternoon I caught her watching me as I cleaned a particularly nasty cut I'd gotten when Sebastian pushed me up against the edge of a windowsill, and the look on her face made it clear that she knew."

"I expected her to confront Sebastian in the way that I was too terrified to, to tell him to stop hurting me, to stop killing me—because I was sure he would be the death of me. But life continued on as usual, and eventually I realized Irene wasn't going to do anything about the way Sebastian was treating me. I had no way out. And that's when I started cutting myself. At first I used it as just another form of pain, my own way of trying to build up immunity to it, I guess? I don't really know what I was thinking. But things quickly spiraled out of control, and pretty soon I found that just causing myself pain wasn't enough, no matter how deep I cut or where I dug in the blade."

John's eyes flickered down to her wrists where various pink marks decorated the skin. She saw his eyes soften and she knew he was thinking of the numerous, far worse scars on her stomach and thighs.

"My teachers had begun to notice the marks and bruises, and my friends had as well—they all suspected what was really going on, as I'd bragged loudly about my amazing older boyfriend at school during the first few weeks of being with Sebastian. But no one did anything about it—no one cared. It's when I realized that I honestly didn't have anything to live for that I started trying to kill myself. I wasn't sure how to go about it, but I remembered seeing on the telly something about how slashing down the forearm was the best way to do it because the wound couldn't be stitched. So one night, after a particularly bad hour and a half with Sebastian, I crept into the bathroom and picked up the razor I always used. And the scariest part about that night? I didn't even hesitate. Things had gotten so bad that I was convinced death was my best option—that to end it all was the best course of action."

John's grip on her hand was so tight she had to pry his fingers apart in order to return circulation to her own. "Laura…" his dark blue eyes were filled with worry, despite the fact that the story obviously couldn't end with Laura's death. John pulled her even closer to him.

"But just as I began to cut Irene burst in and I froze. She simply stared for what felt like an eternity, and for a moment I honestly thought she was just going to turn around and walk back out of the bathroom, leaving me to die on the floor next to the toilet. But instead she reached forward and took the blade from my hands, then fastidiously cleaned my relatively shallow wound. She led me to my room, helped me into bed, and even tucked me in the way our mom used when we were little. But instead of murmuring "goodnight, pumpkin," like Mum always did, Irene whispered "I'm so sorry, Laura," before hurrying from the room like the very devil himself was at her heels.

"When I awoke the next morning, the only thing able to convince me it hadn't been a dream was the painful sting in my forearm. Hearing voices in Irene's room next door, I hurried over to the spot beside the wall where I always sat when I listened in on her conversations with Jim. I heard her whispering in pleading tones, mentioning my suicide attempt the night before and asking for what clearly wasn't the first time if Sebastian couldn't find himself another 'plaything'. When Jim replied that allowing Sebastian complete and unregulated control over me was nonnegotiable and part of their contract, Irene gave in without further argument. I packed my things right then and there.

"My sister had put a business deal above not only my dignity, innocence, and safety, but my very life as well; with one overheard conversation she'd ensured that I would never see her the same way again. While she'd done all she could to disassociate herself with me over the last two years, I'd thought she was just going through a phase, or that it was her strange way of coping with the loss of our parents. But now I knew it was guilt that had motivated her—a guilt that still wasn't stronger than her desire for wealth and power. My sister had betrayed me, and I knew that I could no longer rely on her at all."

"That bitch," John muttered, and Laura didn't disagree; she'd been thinking the same thing for the past thirteen years, and even Irene's death couldn't change her opinion.

"Although I was still a few months away from my eighteenth birthday, I was confident I could survive on my own. I'd saved up a few thousand pounds, planning to leave it to a charity when I'd passed, and I used a small fraction of my funds to board a bus to Wales. In search of a new life worth living, I never looked back.

"I lived my life, taking a part time job and eventually putting myself through uni. I was finally able to live the way I wanted to, and got a job that eventually brought me back to London. I'd attempted a few more relationships that each ended terribly in their own way, leading me to pretty much give up on the idea of a 'decent man' ever really existing. I suppose Irene had still kept tabs on me, despite the fact that I'd thought I'd managed to completely disappear from her life, as she called within a month of me moving to London. I ignored her, not ready to face my past, but eventually she managed to badger me so much I gave in. Irene always got her way, and my pain was no match for her determination.

"But every time we set up a time to meet, one of her clients would schedule an appointment unexpectedly or she'd get called for a last-minute meeting; even after all these years, she still put her business before me. But Abigail was always eager to entertain me, and we became fast friends as I arrived regularly at Irene's house almost twice a month. Abigail jokingly suggested that I just stay at Irene's house, in my old bedroom, for a week or so; at least then I'd be guaranteed to see her. Determined to finally confront my sister about her treatment of me as I'd been too upset and afraid to do in my youth, I did exactly as Abigail suggested. I sent Irene a text telling her to expect me at one o'clock, and she called me back saying that her day was entirely free. She promised that it would just be the two of us—and Abigail of course. So imagine my surprise when I arrived at my sister's home ready to confront my past, only to find you trotting down the stairs,"

Laura added that last bit in an attempt to wipe the grimace from John's face, and she let out a sigh of relief when a small smile graced his features. She'd only wanted to relive a burden from her chest, but had clearly ended up distressing him in the process. Laura snuggled closer until she could rest her head against John's chest. Tilting her face upwards, she placed a lingering kiss on his lips.

"Please don't be upset, John," she whispered, and his features softened.

"Sorry. It's just a lot to process," he told her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her even closer against him.

"I probably should have told you earlier," she began, but John shook his head adamantly.

"You told me at the perfect time—when you were ready. And I'm glad you did. I…well, I worry about you, Laura. I've lain awake at night wondering about what happened to you, if it was still happening, if I was somehow making it worse…" Laura's eyes widened at his words, and her heart leapt into her throat.

"John, how could you possibly think you were making things worse? You're what's helped me get through all of this, helped me accept what happened and finally begin to move on," she cried, her voice rising in pitch. She'd unearthed a wealth of feelings by retelling her story, and her sister's recent death, added onto John's words, proximity, facial expression—just John in general—were turning her into an emotional wreck.

"I'd sworn off men before I met you," she added, although she wasn't exactly sure why—perhaps to prove to him how much he'd changed her? Her words caused that familiar less-than-innocent smile to tug at John's lips.

"Is that so?" he asked, as his fingers began to tickle up and down the sides of her bare thighs beneath the sheets.

"It is," she told him matter-of-factly, and he arched an eyebrow.

"Would you care to explain why I changed your mind?" he asked, his lips now on her neck, and she snorted; Sherlock wasn't the only one with an ego that needed petting.

"Actually I'd rather not," she said, and she heard him chuckle into her collarbone. "You'll just have to guess," she added, then let out a guilty sigh of pleasure when he slid his palm up beneath her shirt and along her stomach.

"Oh, I love a challenge," he growled as he fingered her breasts, and Laura let out a quiet moan. John's fingers moved expertly over her chest for what felt like hours, alternating between tracing patterns along her skin and rolling her nipples between his thumb and index finger. His lips were soft on her neck, and his warm breaths puffed against her skin as he rubbed his nose into the spot just behind her ear. Laura finally pushed John's hands away to pull her shirt over her head, then climbed on top of him. She straddled his hips to rest her hands on John's chest instead, laughing at his grunt of surprise. She looked down at him, his eyes dark with desire, and she soaked in the power she felt rush through her as John watched her heaving chest with heavily-lidded eyes.

She slid her hands upwards, sliding the fabric of his shirt upwards before bending down to trail kisses down his chest. Laura then slipped her hands between his legs, rutting her palm against John's cock through the material of his boxers. Her actions caused a symphony of noises to erupt from within John, his breath now coming in strained gasps as he begged her to stroke him off properly. After a few more minutes of torturing him with her touch, Laura removed her hands from his groin and reached up to remove his shirt altogether. She then swooped down to attack his mouth with hers. John let out a frustrated grunt, and she felt his large hands slide beneath her underwear to grip onto her ass. She smiled as she realized he was trying to push her hips down against his, desperate for any sort of friction. Laura arched her back like a cat in response, and John let out another slightly annoyed yet clearly still aroused noise as she pressed her breasts into his chest and her butt harder up into his palms.

Laura eventually broke the kiss and gave in, sitting down to drag her fingernails slowly down his chest. She gently rocked her hips back and forth over his, and John let out one of his distinct and familiar begging noises— the one he reserved for the moment when he would very much appreciate it if Laura would allow him to shag her brains out.

Laura pulled away from him and rolled onto her back on the bed beside him, running her hands through her tangled hair. She had become accustomed to their nocturnal routine, and waited for John to jerk himself off as he normally did right about now. She would watch him intently as his hands stroked and pulled at his own skin, the noises that escaped his lips and the various ways his face contorted never failing to send currents of pleasure and desire rushing through Laura. But instead of plunging his hands below the waistband of his boxers, John turned to her and panted, "I wouldn't hurt you, you know".

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**A/N: Oh look, another incredibly _heart-wrenching_ cliff hanger! I wonder what'll happen next?**

**Next chapter: I don't want to ruin the surprise since it's definitely _not obvious_, so I won't tell you!**


	22. First Dance

**A/N: So, I was gone (a lot) longer than expected, but I'm back now, and we can continue on with this ****_steamy_**** scene! Laura and John are about to "dance together in the worst way" (I'm paraphrasing from Abraham Lincoln Vampire Slayer; this is, in my opinion, the only case when using innuendo from vampire books is acceptable) and I'm sure you've all been eagerly awaiting this moment (don't even bother pretending you haven't). Anyway, enough with the rambling/overuse of parenthesis- on with the story!**

**p.s. I seriously considered naming this chapter "Sexytimes". Just thought you guys should know. I feel like that could be a snazzy name for a tv show: Sexytimes, With John and Laura. I don't know. I'd watch it. I am ****_so_**** weird.**

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Laura stared at John as his words sank in. He wanted her, that much was clear. And, no matter how afraid she'd been before, Laura had wanted John from the very beginning. She'd always trusted him, always known he wouldn't do anything without her best interest in mind. But there was something about him knowing about her past and thus her reasons from running away from sex that made his words so much more meaningful. Now that he understood, that he knew the truth, she knew John thought he could figure out how to make sex enjoyable for the both of them without evoking Laura's bad memories.

"We could take it slow, maybe not even go all the way," he breathed kindly, his voice strained but devoid of the animalistic desperation she'd come to associate with Sebastian. His eyes weren't lustful but loving, and Laura wondered how many people were actually lucky enough to witness the difference.

"I mean, I'm here getting off on how bloody hot you make me, and you're just lying there watching; it's hardly fair. I want to give you what you're giving me," he said sincerely. Laura hesitated for only a fraction of a second before reaching up to slide her hands into his hair. She gently pulled John's head downward until his lips were just above hers.

"Make love to me," she whispered dramatically, then giggled slightly at her absurd delivery and choice of words. John's lips quirked upwards in a genuine smile, and he whispered, "God I love you," before placing a gentle, slow kiss on her lips.

Laura was doing this—this was actually happening. She thought about pinching herself just to make sure it wasn't a dream, but she quickly dismissed the idea; if she was dreaming, she wanted to continue to pretend that it was real for as long as possible. John's tongue was soft and caressing against her lips, and his kisses only slightly increased in fervor as his mouth made its way down her body. Laura let a tiny moan escape her mouth when John began to suck at the skin just beneath the waistband of her mauve cotton underwear.

His fingers slid the material from her hips slowly, leaving her completely naked before him on the bed. He sat back on his heels for a moment, his eyes traveling all the way from her face to her toes and then back again. She watched him examine her, and Laura took in the fading white lines her fingernails had left on the flushed skin of his chest. She then glanced up to his mouth, where her greedy biting had left tiny bite marks on his bottom lip. She'd marked him as hers, she realized, and now he was about to do the same to her.

John shifted so that his head was positioned between her legs, and Laura took a deep breath as he reached up to spread them apart. He began to place hot, open-mouth kisses on her inner thighs, and she fleetingly wondered how he could possibly be this so good at taking her apart like this, kiss by kiss. He stroked the backs of her legs as he worked, his eyes gently closed as his mouth moved ever closer to uncharted territory, and she watched him in eager anticipation. The sudden presence of his fingers on the skin that hadn't been touched in years pulled a startled gasp from her lips, and his light, feathery caresses sent her eyes fluttering shut. Her breath came in heavy gasps as John began to apply more pressure, his fingers rubbing hypnotically into the highly sensitized skin.

Laura's breath hitched when he slid a finger inside of her, and her breathing came in short, shallow gasps as he pushed in a second digit. She'd just gotten used to the warm presence in her vagina when John's fingers began to _move_. Her mind reeled as she tried to process this new feeling, this indescribable pleasure that was far more enjoyable than she ever could have imagined. She could feel her lips spread into a smile as John continued to touch her, and Laura babbled what she knew as incoherent praise as she blindly ran her fingers through his hair. This sensation was completely foreign to her; there was pleasure in this, there was love in this—there didn't have to be pain, at least not the kind she'd felt in the past with Sebastian. It had never before occurred to Laura, but she supposed that fundamentally, a man's touch on her vagina was nothing to be afraid of. It was the man himself one had to fear.

Laura's mind was wiped clean of all thoughts of Sebastian when John pressed his fingers farther into her. Her body responded immediately, her hips pushing upward as if her pelvic muscles had taken a life of their own. John dug his fingers even deeper in response and she let out a loud moan. her fingers clenching in his sandy locks as she whispered his name under her breath.

"More," she encouraged. Laura was eager to see what else he could do to her, what other pleasures he could give her. When John didn't respond, Laura opened her eyes to see a wicked grin spread across his face.

"Not yet," he breathed, just before he ducked his head down between her legs. Laura let out a startled yelp as fingers disappeared without warning, only to be replaced by lips and tongue. She could now feel a wet heat stroking her clitoris, breath puffing out against her hair, and a soft warmth pressed against her skin; that was his tongue, those were his lips—on her, kissing her, licking her, melting her down to the core with every motion.

John's hair tickled her lower abdomen she felt a vibrating heat against her vagina as he moaned deep in his throat. Her body had completely given itself over to these sensations and it was all she could do not to squirm—the last thing she wanted to do was distract John from his work. His nose was pressed against her clitoris now, nuzzling against it in the most usually erotic way, as his tongue pushed its way into her vagina. Laura gave up on trying to make sense of anything ever again as John Watson fucked her with his _mouth_, his tongue sliding in and out of her and moving around inside of her and dear god how had she survived without this all her life? How was she ever supposed to get anything done, to do anything else ever again, when she could be getting fucked by the mouth of John Watson? Nothing else in life would ever stand up to this—how could it?

But of course there were an infinite number of things John could do to her—why stop with mouth-fucking? What if he could twist every act she'd ever preformed with Sebastian so that it would be enjoyable for both parties involved? There were dozens upon dozens of things John could do to Laura—that Laura could do to John! That they could do to each other…

"John…John, I want you…I want you John, please," she panted in a loud voice, and she glanced down just as he lifted his head from between her legs. "I want you," she repeated, and he stared at her for a long moment, his pupils so huge that his irises were nothing more than thin dark blue circles. John crawled over her with a slow smile, taking as long as he could just to torture her. He knelt so that his hands were on either side of her head on the mattress, and she stared up at him with wide eyes and bated breath. His hair was a wild blonde halo around his head and his mouth was smeared with her. His tongue slowly emerged and slid across his lips. She watched, fascinated, and almost missed it when John leaned closer and began to speak.

"What exactly is it that you want from me?" he purred, his eyes flickering across her face, and her mind reeled with all the delicious things she could do to this man. Where on earth was she to start?

"Sit back and I'll show you."

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Laura sat up and crawled towards John until she knelt just before him, her breasts mere centimeters away from his chest. She held his gaze as she slid his boxers slowly from his hips, and she let her fingers tickle his thighs, exploring the tender flesh that covered thick muscle. She then ghosted over his balls, their heat radiating in waves, before she trailed her fingers slowly up his shaft. John let out a soft whimper in response, and she smiled as his eyes fluttered shut.

Laura wrapped her hand around his cock, the flesh hot and already slick with the fluid that leaked from its tip, and she began to slowly pull from the base up to the head. John let out a heavy sigh, leaning forward to bury his face in her shoulder. Laura circled her thumb over the head and dragged it along his opening, and John sucked in a gasping breath and pushed his face harder against her. His hips were giving tiny jerks now, insistently pushing his cock in her hand against her hip. She began stroking again and his body pitched forward over her as he tried to push her down onto the mattress, desperate for more pressure, more friction, more anything. Laura stopped him before he could fully climb over her.

"Do you have anything?" she panted, and she pushed back on his shoulder so he was forced to meet her eyes. John stared at her in a dazed confusion as if he'd been rudely awakened from a wonderful dream. Understanding slowly crept across his face, and eventually he nodded.

He scrambled off of the bed, then crouched down on the hardwood floor to fumble with his pants. He quickly produced a condom from his wallet, and ripped it open with his teeth as he clambered back onto the bed.

"What, do you always carry one around with you?" she asked teasingly as she took the round piece of rubber from him with a smile.

"A soldier's always prepared," he said breathlessly, then eyed the condom in her hands meaningfully.

"I'm pretty sure that's boy scouts," she told him with a playful smile before she placed the condom beside her on the mattress. John let out an indignant grunt of surprise, but he quickly forgot his annoyance when Laura took his cock in her hands again. His entire body sagged with pleasure at her touch, as if all his energy had surged down to the richly veined organ. John slid a hand into her hair and leaned back with a moan, still resting on his knees but sporting his upper body with his other hand flat on the mattress behind him.

"Oh god yes," he gasped quietly as Laura slowly dragged her tongue up his shaft in long, broad strokes. She then lightly pressed her mouth against the head of his cock, and John let out a strangled whimper. Laura glanced up at his face and felt excitement bubble in her stomach as she realized just how many sounds she could get John to make using her mouth alone. It felt so good, hearing him whisper her name under her breath, feeling his fingers caress her scalp, tasting his heat in her mouth, knowing she was the one doing this to him. She sucked gently at the head, and slowly took him farther into her mouth with each suck until her nose nearly brushed the tightly curled blonde hairs at his groin.

"Jesus," John breathed, staring down at her with wide eyes. He was panting now, and his elbow trembled as his fingers twisted into the sheets. She gave a particularly strong suck as she began to massage his balls in her hand, and John threw his head back in response. She glanced up to see his bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth and his eyes shut tight as he began to thrust his hips forward eagerly. Laura watched his face with hungry eyes, and she noted the return of a distinct wetness between her own thighs.

"Laura…oh god Laura," he cried, and she tried in vain to keep him still as he bobbed up and down beneath her. She pulled back to slide him out of her mouth when it became clear that trying to keep John still would be pointless.

"If I don't fuck you right now, I'm going to explode," he growled in a broken voice, and she watched in amusement as he took a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm himself down. She smiled, then reached for the condom and slowly slid it over his swollen flesh. Laura pushed her hands up his torso until she could wrap her arms around his shoulders, then pulled him down onto the mattress on top of her.

"Are you ready?" John panted, his eyes still sincere beneath the heavy curtain of desire, and Laura didn't hesitate before nodding.

Laura sucked in a startled gasp, her fingers digging into his shoulders, when John began to push himself into her. John hesitated and she assumed he'd probably asked if she was alright, but Laura could only comprehend the fact that the delicious pressure had suddenly ceased.

"Don't you dare stop," she panted, and she let out a throaty moan when the heavy heat and that wonderful strain on her muscles returned.

Laura had been fucked scores of times, more than she cared to count, and she'd never thought about penetration as being anything a woman could really enjoy. But never before had she been penetrated like this. This wasn't just about her letting John shove his cock into a warm wet hole as he punished her for an offense she couldn't even remember—no, this was about him wanting to give her something, about him wanting to show her that sex really wasn't something she needed to be afraid of.

Once he'd fully entered her, Laura more or less lost her grip on reality. She could feel his breath hot on her neck and she knew his fingers were entwined with hers, but all she could even begin to comprehend was the way his rhythmic rocking sent waves of pleasure coursing through her. She panted that he didn't have to be so gentle, that she wanted him to go harder, faster, deeper—she wanted him to fuck her like he meant it. Or at least that's what Laura had intended to say; her words came out as slurred mutterings, confused gasps, and half-coherent syllables rudely interrupted by desperate moans. But John seemed to understand her nonetheless, and his breath came in quick huffs against her ear as his muscles shifted and he pushed his hips down into her without restraint.

His grip on her hands tightened. She screwed her eyes shut as John pounded into her, again, and again, and again, and again. The pleasure grew with each forceful thrust, and Laura couldn't help but think that maybe she'd actually died hours ago and this was her final reward for all her life's suffering.

Laura's head bumped against the headboard as John's movements became more and more desperate. He was muttering something, his voice low and thick and strained and breathless, and Laura wanted to know what he was saying but she couldn't concentrate, and she was almost there, so gloriously close, right on the brink, teetering on the edge. She cried out as John gave a particularly deep thrust, and her toes curled and her spine arched upwards and every muscle in her body seemed to gather and bundle and squeeze together. Laura let out a moan so high pitched it bordered on a scream as the feeling within her continued to constrict, clenching together until it finally released and sent her tumbling over the edge in a flood of intense euphoria. A fraction of a second later John's entire body shuddered as he let out a throaty noise that was a mix between a sigh and a groan, and Laura felt a sudden rush of hot liquid surge against the thin plastic barrier that separated their flesh.

Laura opened her eyes and slowly blinked up at John a few minutes later, a drowsy smile spreading across her face when she caught sight of John's sleepy, satisfied expression. He bent down and placed a quiet kiss on her forehead, his warm breath ruffling her hair.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you," Laura responded quietly. He rolled off of her to lie just beside her, and she pressed her body close against his. John wrapped one arm around her shoulder and the other around her waist, and she snuggled into him, resting her head against his chest and listening to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat against her cheek.

Laura let her eyes fall shut again as she relished in the warmth radiating off of John. She loved this feeling of being so close to him, as close as humanly possible. Her fingers made their way to his shoulder and she absently traced along the familiar ridges and taught stretches of flesh that made up his scar. John placed another kiss on the crown of her head as he ghosted his fingers up and down her forearm, his fingertips dancing over thin faded white lines. Laura sighed contentedly.

"I wish we could just stay like this forever," she heard him whisper after a long while, and Laura laced her fingers through his.

"Me too," she murmured. She listened to the calming sound of his heartbeat as she slowly drifted into that perfectly comfortable trancelike state just between consciousness and sleep.

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**A/N: I'd thought about splitting this chapter up into two, seeing as it is so bloody long. But then I remembered that you guys have gone a while without any updates, and withholding anything, especially a scene of this nature, would just be cruel. So I decided to be a nice person for once and give it to you all at once :) This does mean that you'll have to wait a bit (as in a few days, not weeks; don't worry, I don't plan on doing that to you guys again!) for the next chapter because I skipped it when I wrote this a few months ago; I hate depressed Sherlock.**


	23. Karma

**A/N: So, do you guys remember how I promised I'd be back sooner than in a few weeks? Well I think from now on I should just stop making promises as far as writing is concerned. The only delays occur when I'm out of town, or when I don't have the next chapter written...unfortunately I was out of town for three weeks with tons of work and with a chapter I didn't really want to write! Anyway, I'm back now, and I've got the next few chapters lined up! I would promise that I'll put the next chapter up tomorrow (and I will), but like I said, promises just seem to set me up for failure! **

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Sherlock let out a heavy sigh as he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. He'd been seated at the flat's kitchen table for hours, wasted tea bags surrounding the space around him. John's favorite mug, half-filled with stale tea, sat beside an empty box that had once contained the nicotine patches that now decorated his arms. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten or slept, and the alarm he felt at not being able to recall his own actions was far more troubling than the damage he knew he was doing to his body. A lack of food had always helped him focus in the past, but now it seemed this torture had betrayed him. Rather than allowing him to focus on things that mattered, such as the unfinished experiment on the far side of the table, all he could think about was her.

Not the Woman—no that would've been logical, reasonable, understandable. The Woman had supposedly been his obsession for months, known by all persons involved by the title she'd created for herself: "the woman who beat Sherlock Homes". But no, she wasn't the one Sherlock couldn't tear his mind away from. No matter how much tea he drank, no matter how many times he replaced used patches, he couldn't erase the image of the naked body of the Woman's sister entwined with John's.

Sherlock let out a frustrated grunt and slammed a fist on the table, grateful for this physical pain in his hand as he tried to mask the totally foreign ache he felt somewhere in the vicinity of his chest and abdomen. Thoughts of her were inescapably accompanied by thoughts of John, thoughts of them together—thoughts of the one topic he couldn't bear to consider.

Following the Woman's death, Sherlock hadn't expected John to arrive home in the wee hours of the morning as he did most days following an early end to his shift at the clinic; however, he hadn't anticipated this new pattern of John arriving home late in the morning, sometimes just before noon, to continue.

He could picture the two of them now, John having been up since just before dawn due to his habitual routine, while the dark haired woman resting on his chest would have just woken up at half-past nine. John's short sandy hair would already be slightly mussed, but she'd reach up to ruffle it with a smile any way, making some joke about him having a bedhead that would make him smile in that way that crinkled the skin around his eyes. He'd make a witty remark regarding her own tangled hair, and surely after only a few minutes of playful chatter their conversation would dissolve into more physically strenuous morning activities.

Sherlock tried his best to pull his mind away from this painful simulation of events, but he found he had nothing else to focus on. His mother would have of course attributed this turn in events to karma; it was merely punishment for his unkind words to John and less than proper thoughts concerning both John and his girlfriend.

Nonetheless, if it was indeed "the powers that be" that were punishing him, Sherlock couldn't help but feel the price he was being forced to pay was rather extreme. He gladly would have kept his cruel remarks to himself if he'd thought it would in some way prevent these odd emotions twisting his gut. John was now having sex with his girlfriend on a regular basis, and the Woman, the topic that likely would've kept his mind occupied enough to dull the pain he now felt, was undoubtedly deceased.

John no longer needed him, that much was clear; Sherlock was no longer the one who'd be attributed with the accomplishment of healing the army doctor, as all admiration for John's continued improvement went to her now.

Of course Sherlock had to admit that she was healing John in ways Sherlock couldn't—ways he wouldn't. That was an important distinction, Sherlock reminded himself; he was in all ways capable—strike that, in all ways completely, almost terrifyingly eager for any chance—of being involved with John in the same ways his girlfriend was. It was John who was the problem, John who'd look at her ceaselessly with unabashed desire but never seemed to notice Sherlock's longing stares. The girlfriend did of course make things more difficult, but even without her John wouldn't have ever been his; Sherlock valued their friendship far too much to make that sort of gamble.

Sherlock sighed once more, running his hands down the length of his face. Blaming John was not the answer, he knew. Sexual preference wasn't something one could control, he now knew for sure. (Sherlock had maintained a margin of doubt in this area only due to a lack of sufficient evidence and little to no understanding in the field, but his own recent experiences had absolved all doubt from his mind). He would most definitely have returned to a world where sex was trivial and unimportant if he could have. The knowledge and understanding he'd gained in no way made up for the painful—not annoying, or frustrating as they always had been in the past— emotions he felt.

He glanced over at the recently penned sheet music to his right, the notes scribbled down in a way that startlingly contrasted his usual meticulously crafted music. He'd drafted the song in a fit of anguish, resolving to channel his feelings into song rather than drown them away with a drug made of stronger stuff. His violin lay abandoned farther down the table, the bow left carelessly beside a rack of test tubes. He momentarily considered reaching for it, but ultimately decided it would require far too much effort. Besides, there was no one around to listen anyway.

* * *

**A/N: So, another trip into the mind of Sherlock Holmes, this one not quite as fun as the last! The next chapter jumps forward in time like Scandal does, just as a heads up so you guys aren't terribly confused :)**


	24. Texts from Beyond the Grave

**A/N: Huzzah, I acutally managed to post this a day later as (not) promised! I feel so proud :) This chapter is less depressing than the last, but I can't say it's exactly cheerful. Things are getting back on track with the show, and the original plot starts becoming a lot more important next chapter. But have no fear, it definitely won't just be a repeat of Scandal with Laura thrown in- there are big changes headed your way!**

* * *

Laura had just finished typing a long-winded reply to an email from Abigail when Sherlock came bursting in through the door to her flat. She leapt up from the couch with a scream, her laptop crashing to the floor as he swept towards her.

"How did you get in—the door was locked," she demanded, her heart still racing as she wondered if perhaps she should install an alarm system.

"Did you know about this?" Sherlock hissed, his voice strained as he shoved his mobile into her face. Laura glared up at him before glancing at the screen. She read the words written there four times before she was actually able to comprehend their meaning. Once she did, Laura stumbled backwards and fell back onto the couch.

"I'm not dead—let's have dinner," Laura whispered to herself, her head reeling as she recalled John's many annoyed rants about how Irene had texted Sherlock during her initial absence. Laura honestly hadn't cared if her sister teased the detective but refrained from contacting her—Irene had made it clear long ago that she hadn't really wanted anything to do with Laura. Even thirteen years later Irene had still kept her sister in the dark while using her as an object, having made Laura into a diversion in order to escape the police for her own personal gain.

Laura looked up at Sherlock, who was still staring intently at her from a few feet away. His chest was heaving and his eyes looked slightly crazed as he closely observed her reaction. Laura's eyes then latched onto the phone he held, where an unfamiliar number was present at the top of the screen.

"Let me talk to her," she demanded, leaping up from the couch, but Sherlock pulled his hand away with a frown.

"I can't let you do that," he said defensively, jumping to the side as she lunged for his hand.

"Give it to me," Laura screamed, all the pain, anger, and frustration she'd felt towards her sister in the past few months bubbling to the surface and directed at Sherlock. He warily held out his hand to her, and Laura snatched the mobile from him with greedy fingers. She clumsily dialed the number, and didn't bother to turn away from Sherlock as she waited for Irene to answer.

"How could you do this?" Laura cried the moment the dial tone ceased, her voice faltering as her throat tightened. "You finally make me think I can trust you again, that maybe you'll actually start to behave like a decent sister again, and then you pull a stunt like this?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. Laura waited for her sister to respond, her breath puffing against the touch screen on Sherlock's phone.

"I'm sorry," came Irene's voice, empty and distant.

"No you aren't," Laura spat, her face twisted in fury. "Do you know how I know, Irene? Do you? Because you never stopped. No matter how bad it got, no matter what he did to me, you never—"

"I couldn't!" Irene interrupted, desperation and agony clear in her voice. Laura paused for a moment, caught off guard by her sister's sudden display of emotion. She's just trying to play you, Laura reminded herself. She's done it plenty of times before to countless people, even you—don't let it get to you.

"Yes you could have! Sure it might have been bad for business, you might have lost a few customers here and there, but—"

"You really don't understand do you?" Irene huffed, her voice incredulous. "After all these years, you still don't get it. Laura, who do you think paid for that house, for the food, for the school you went to? I had to find a way to earn enough cash to provide for us—I certainly wasn't making all that money just by selling myself!"

"No, you weren't. So you decided to sell me as well," Laura said coldly, then ended the call. She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it for a full minute before chucking it in Sherlock's general direction. She then buried her face in her hands and began to sob, making the most unpleasant gasping, retching noises as tears flooded from her eyes. After a few minutes Laura realized that Sherlock was still in her living room, standing off to the side and looking terribly uncomfortable. Clearly this wasn't how he'd expected things to go.

"I didn't think John would want me to let you talk to her," he said once her crying finally decreased in volume.

"Why is she doing this?" Laura sniffed as she slumped back onto the couch, hating the way her voice sounded so small and weak.

"That's what I hope to find out," Sherlock said with a small smile. Laura shot him a skeptical look.

"She didn't want you to know she was back, did she?" Laura asked, and Sherlock let out a sigh as he came to sit on a nearby sofa-chair.

"I followed John—"

"Hang on, what has John got to do with any of this?" Laura demanded, sitting up straight as her fists clenched instinctively. After everything she'd been through, she desperately hoped that fate wasn't about to let Irene take the one positive in her life away from her.

"She wanted him to do something for her—to get her camera phone. Apparently she sent it to me for 'safekeeping' and wanted him to return it to her. She said that if I knew she was back, I'd come after her. That keeping me in the dark was for my own safety. "

"And will you? Go after her, I mean?" Laura asked, but Sherlock didn't answer. Laura sighed, burying her face in her hands once more. How could a man so brilliant possibly be so tremendously stupid?

"You know she's using you, don't you?" Laura asked in a tired voice, and he frowned at her. "My God, she's got you under her spell too! You're all the same, aren't you? Or we, I should say; I've fallen for it too. When Irene says she knows what you like, she doesn't mean just sexually. She knows how to pull you in, what to say to get you to do her bidding. It's her job, Sherlock, and you're playing right into her hands."

Sherlock gave her a disdainful look. "I think I'd know if I was being manipulated," he said, his voice dripping arrogance. Laura glared at him.

"Clearly you aren't as clever as you'd like to think."

Sherlock blinked at her for a moment, something unfamiliar and slightly terrifying flickering in his gaze. Then he stood, pulling his coat closer around him as he prepared to leave. "Yes, well thank you for your concern, but I must be leaving now. You've been most unhelpful," he said, looking straight ahead as he passed.

"Wait," Laura called suddenly, hurrying up from the couch to reach him before he vacated the flat. "Did she say anything else?" Laura asked hesitantly, and Sherlock frowned at her in confusion. "About me. Did she say why she kept all of this from me, why she didn't even want me to know she wasn't actually dead?"

Laura could have imagined it, but she was sure she saw Sherlock's features soften ever so slightly at her words. His expression was almost sympathetic as he slowly shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, so softly she almost missed it. Laura nodded silently, tears brimming in her eyes once again as she opened the door for Sherlock and he stepped out into the hall.

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**A/N: Next chapter, the plot from Scandal makes a long awaited reappearance, and Mrs. Hudson makes her debut! **


	25. Suspicion

**A/N: And now for the moment you've all been waiting for: the return of the plot from Scandal, and Mrs. Hudson! And Laura reveals her true identity as a serial conspiracy theorist! Ok not really, but you'll see what I mean. **

* * *

A little over an hour after Sherlock left her flat Laura found herself in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, seated at the small table beside John as the wail of sirens finally begin to fade and Sherlock raided the landlady's refrigerator. John had called her a few minutes after she'd managed to get her computer to reboot, his voice flecked with worry as he described the American agents' invasion of 221B as well as their terrorizing of Mrs. Hudson. He'd been convinced Laura would be next on their list of people to 'interrogate' if they were at least half-decent investigators, and had insisted that she come over right away.

"Would you like some tea, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked, and John nodded while Laura hurriedly rose to her feet.

"I can make it," Laura offered kindly, but Mrs. Hudson frowned slightly and Sherlock shot her a disdainful look.

"Oh, no, don't worry about me," the older woman said with a smile, taking Laura by the arm and leading her into the sitting room. She heard John rise from his seat as well, and he followed her and Mrs. Hudson out of the room as Sherlock lingered in the kitchen. "It's no trouble at all," Mrs. Hudson added when Laura opened her mouth to protest. The older woman placed her hands on her shoulders and pushed her down onto the sofa, then hurried back into the kitchen before Laura could get in a word.

"She'll be ok," John assured Laura with a smile as he came and sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he did so. "She just needs something to keep her mind occupied."

"So do I," Laura said, looking up at him meaningfully. "What did she say to you?" she asked after a pause, and John shifted slightly, turning to look at her directly.

"Just what Sherlock told you earlier," he said, and Laura nodded, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. John paused for a moment before continuing. "I tried to get her to tell you she was alive, but she just said it was 'irrelevant' and texted him instead. I've never wanted to punch someone in the face so badly; Sherlock needed to know she was alive, but so did you," he said earnestly, but Laura shook her head and pursed her lips as she tried to hold back more childish tears.

"Irene didn't need to tell me she was alive, and she only told Sherlock because it's going to aid her in her plan to gain money or power or whatever it is she wants this time," Laura said, her voice a perfect balance of bitterness and sorrow. "The fact that I know is only going to cause her more trouble," she added, and John frowned at her.

"Hang on, what plan? And why is you knowing your sister's not dead a problem?" he asked, and Laura glanced over her shoulder into the kitchen. Sherlock was seated at the table drinking tea and chatting away about some new development in quantum physics while Mrs. Hudson stirred a pot on the stove and nodded whenever appropriate. Laura figured they were occupied enough not to listen to her conversation with John, but she lowered her voice nonetheless.

"John, as I'm sure you've already realized, Irene can't be trusted. Her actions, her words, everything she even thinks about, are all focused on her own personal gain. She doesn't care what happens to you, me, Sherlock, or anyone else as long as it helps her get what she wants. Whatever it is she's got going on with Sherlock, it's definitely good for her but most likely not quite as beneficial to him." John nodded as she spoke, his expression now worried as he glanced over at Sherlock.

"He's completely infatuated with her," John said, and Laura let out a sigh.

"Then it's already started," she huffed in annoyance. There was little they could do to help him now even if he was willing to listen to reason, and Sherlock's stubborn and arrogant nature would only make convincing him of Irene's ulterior motives all the more difficult.

"He hasn't eaten or slept in weeks," John continued as he watched Sherlock accept yet another biscuit and steaming mug of tea from a beaming Mrs. Hudson. "On the night Irene died—sorry, faked her death—we were all convinced he would relapse. Mrs. Hudson and I both raided the entire house in search of his secret stash, but couldn't find anything." John turned to her, his eyes tired but his jaw set in determination. "She needs to be stopped. She's already done so much to hurt you, and it looks like Sherlock's her next unfortunate victim," he said dryly, but Irene shook her head.

"If there's one thing you have to understand about Irene, it's that she doesn't have victims, John. She doesn't set out with the goal to hurt people, even if she does associate with criminals like Jim Moriarty. No, to Irene, we're all just collateral damage," she said, and John's expression darkened.

"Which makes the situation all the more dangerous for the two of you," he said, and Laura squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"I've already been through the worst of it," she told him, and he winced. "But John, Jim broke into my flat looking for Irene before she 'died', demanding that I tell him where she was. Think about it: Jim goes hunting for my sister, one of his oldest friends, acting as if he wants her dead, right? Then she fakes her own death only to later reveal herself and call on Sherlock for help? Of all the things I'd classify Irene as being, damsel in distress has never been one of them. There's clearly more going on here than Sherlock is willing to admit," she said, and John's expression morphed into one of horror.

"Are you saying Irene is working with Moriarty? That they're both playing Sherlock in some elaborate scheme?" he asked, his voice rising in volume as he spoke. Laura hurriedly gestured for him to lower his voice.

"I'm not saying I know that for sure. It's a bit more than I'd expect from Irene, despite her past. But it makes sense. I'm just saying we should be on our guard," she told him, and John nodded with a sigh.

"But wait, she said she didn't even want Sherlock to know she was alive," John said, his voice hopeful as he scrambled for ways to disprove Laura's theory.

"Well of course that's what she said," Laura said incredulously. "But I promise you, if Irene really hadn't wanted Sherlock to know she was back, there's no way he would've ever found out."

"The food's ready, dears," Mrs. Hudson said cheerily as she bustled back into the room, and Laura let out a startled yelp. All this talk of Irene and Moriarty working together, of Sherlock in danger of being manipulated in much the same way she'd been long ago, had set her on edge. Laura took a deep breath as she tried to calm herself down again, and John gently rubbed his thumb back and forth along the back of her hand.

"I've got some tomato soup from a recipe Nora from my book club recommended, and she says it's just amazing. Come and eat whenever you're ready," Mrs. Hudson said with a smile, then hurried back into the kitchen.

"Which basically translates to 'you lot eat first because I'm afraid it'll be the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted'," Laura muttered, and John laughed, placing a kiss on her cheek.

"That's more like it; as long as Sarcastic Laura is here I know there's still hope," he joked, and she smiled, turning to plant a chaste kiss of her own on his lips.

"It was a direct translation, not sarcasm," she told him, and he raised an eyebrow. "I'm a certified Hudson Translator, appointed by the queen herself," she clarified, and watched as John tried—and failed— to keep a straight face.

"When did Mycroft appoint you as translator?" he asked, and she burst into giggles as he grinned at the success of his joke.

"The food's getting cold," Mrs. Hudson called, and Laura rolled her eyes as she stood and pulled John up with her. They entered the kitchen hand-in-hand, still grinning like fools, and the older woman's expression brightened at the sight of their interwoven fingers and broad smiles. Laura caught sight of Sherlock's light blue eyes flickering down to their hands before he gave a tiny snort and suddenly rose from his chair.

"I think I'll be heading back upstairs," Sherlock declared as he placed his empty mug in the sink, and Laura's face fell. Mrs. Hudson quickly moved to block the door before Sherlock could take more than two steps.

"Sit back down this instant," she demanded with her hands placed firmly on her hips, and he hesitated for a moment before crossing the room to lean against the wall. Mrs. Hudson nodded as if his decision to stay made everything right with the world again, and John and Laura took the two open seats at the table as she served them dinner.

Sherlock continued to watch them from across the room, and Laura got the distinct feeling that he knew exactly what she and John had discussed during the conversation they'd tried to keep concealed from him. She glanced up at him every few seconds even as she ate and carried on a casual conversation with Mrs. Hudson, and she knew John was watching him too.

Mrs. Hudson still emitted cheer in waves, but all the mirth had drained from Laura and John and only continued to disappear as the meal continued. She wanted to shout at the detective that they were only trying to protect him, that they only wanted what was best for him and to help him see that Irene was toxic. But as Sherlock continued to observe them and they stared right back, Mrs. Hudson babbling on without a clue, Laura became more and more sure that all the shouting in the world wouldn't really make any difference unless it came from Irene herself.

* * *

**A/N: The plot thickens!** **Suspicions are on the rise with Irene's sudden return, but will Sherlock be able to see past his 'obsession' or will the Woman dupe him once again? And is he really still all that infatuated with the Woman anyway, or are John and Laura just projecting their own views onto reality? Only time will tell...**


	26. Family Reunion

**A/N: So after all this time Laura finally gets to see her big sis again! Of course things aren't as cheerful as they might have been if Irene hadn't fled from her bathroom window that fateful day...**

* * *

Laura hurried down the sidewalk, her spirits lifting despite the dreary weather as Speedy's sand witch shop came into view. She closed her umbrella before pushing open the door to 221, shrugging off her jacket to hang it beside Sherlock's long black coat. Laura checked her phone just to make sure John hadn't canceled their lunch date at the last minute as he often did, and when she didn't find any disappointing messages Laura began her way up the staircase.

She didn't hesitate before opening the door to 221B and stepping into the flat, but her smile disappeared and she felt as if the floor tilted beneath her feet the moment she caught sight of the dark haired woman standing by Sherlock's side. Laura let out a startled gasp and Irene turned to face her, Sherlock glancing over his shoulder in her direction while John stared at her with wide eyes from across the table.

Irene stepped forward and Laura instinctively stumbled away from her, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She'd known Irene was back, that she'd been alive the whole time, but seeing her sister here in the flesh was a far heavier blow than she'd anticipated.

"It's good to see you, Laura," Irene said as her lips spread into a smile, and for a moment, just the blink of an eye, Laura believed her. All the lies and deceptions were forgotten, and she was honestly convinced that her sister was pleased to finally see her after all these years of tense separation. But the realization that Irene had already begun manipulating her with the first words she'd said to her in person brought on a wave of self-loathing and sent Laura's blood boiling.

Laura took two steps forward, reeled back, and slammed her fist into the side of Irene's face with a desperate shout. Her sister stumbled backwards in surprise, her hand flying up to cup her cheek, and Laura tried her best to control her breathing as adrenaline flooded her veins. She'd never dreamed of assaulting her sister, but the pain in her knuckles was nothing compared to the intense satisfaction she now felt. While she couldn't possibly have hurt Irene as much as her sister had hurt her, knowing she'd given Irene at least a little pain was enough to slightly placate her anger.

Laura looked up to see the two men staring at her; John appeared to be surprised but pleased, while Sherlock looked oddly disapproving. Laura found herself glaring at the taller man when she realized the robe Irene now wore most likely belonged to him, knowing that if he was letting Irene wear his clothes things had already gone far farther than she'd anticipated. Laura's gaze was drawn back to Irene when the woman removed her hand from her face to reveal a small cut on her right cheek.

The sight of the blemish almost instantly reminded Laura of that first day she'd encountered Sherlock and John, the detective having had a nearly identical cut on his cheek. She was supposed to have reconciled with Irene that day, to have at least tried to work out their issues and make their way back to being on speaking terms. But Irene had used her as a cover, thrown their relationship under the bus once again in favor of delving into the world of criminal activity. Irene may have once wanted to reconcile with Laura, but that time had passed long ago, and Laura could no longer muster up even a shred of affection for this woman who'd betrayed her time and time again.

"I was ready to forgive you," Laura said softly, careful not to mask her anger with her quiet tone, and Irene shifted back and forth on her bare feet. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but Laura had no desire to hear any more of Irene's lies. "But you turned your back on me again, lied to me again, betrayed me again, and now there's no way I could ever forgive you now," she said, her voice rising in volume as she continued. She was shouting now, but didn't care if Mrs. Hudson was disturbed by her angry words.

"I never meant to—"

"You need to leave," Laura said sternly, interrupting Irene's pleading words to gesture to the still open door of the flat. "Now."

"She stays," Sherlock said as he rose from his seat, straightening his blazer as he regarded Laura with cold blue eyes. His voice was stern and commanding, but Laura had no intention of giving into his mislead demands. She turned to John for help, only to see him looking from Irene to Sherlock with a furrowed brow and pursed lips, as if he was entirely engaged in solving a mystery of his own. She tried to catch his eye but when it became clear that John was preoccupied she returned her attention to Sherlock.

"I'm only trying to protect you," she said earnestly, wishing she shared Irene's powers of persuasion as Sherlock remained entirely unconvinced.

"She deserves protection as well," Sherlock said with a casual gesture towards Irene, who now leaned on the table at his side, her eyebrows raised challengingly as she watched her younger sister with a sly smile.

"But she isn't in any danger," Laura cried, looking to John once again in the hope that he'd back her up based on their discussion the night before in Mrs. Hudson's living room. However, the army doctor still remained infuriatingly silent. She let out a furious sigh, clenching her fists in frustration. "You can't trust her! Don't listen to her, don't help her. Just get her out of your life before she ruins everything," Laura said, her voice breaking on the last word.

But Laura's desperate last plea for Sherlock's safety was entirely ignored as the detective returned to his computer. Irene gave her a little shrug before turning away from Laura, placing her hand on Sherlock's shoulder as she leaned close over him from behind. Laura stood dumb founded for a moment, her mind racing as she scrambled for any argument that might convince Sherlock to abandon his obsession with Irene and listen to reason.

Her eyes instinctively drifted to John, the one man she was convinced Sherlock would listen to above all others—the one man who'd remained silent throughout the entire ordeal. He still looked troubled as he watched Sherlock and Irene, but Laura ignored his displeased expression as she marched across the room and grabbed him by the arm.

"We need to talk," she said tensely, and John looked up in surprise. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue, but Laura shot him a look fierce enough to quickly close his lagging jaw. After a moment of hesitation John allowed himself to be dragged from the chair and into one of the flat's hallways for a few choice words.

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**A/N: Hopefully you guys liked it, I had a bit of trouble figuring out how exactly Irene would respond to this sort of situation. But next chapter John gets reprimanded by his girlfriend (surprisingly, that's actually more suggestive than I intended...) and we learn a little more about Irene's sinister plot**


	27. Perfect Alibi

**A/N: So, after an incredibly long absence, the story continues! Just as a heads up this story is going to keep going after Scandal ends- there will be a few chapters during Hound and then the rest will take place up to and during Reichenbach... during which Laura and Sherlock's relationship will go from civil to something a lot more passionate, frustrating, and destructive. I feel like I have to convince you guys that there is more coming after I've been gone for so long. But have no fear- the story will go on!**

* * *

Laura dropped John's arm and stood with her own arms crossed tightly over her chest, leaning against the wall and giving him her darkest glare. To her annoyance, John didn't even seem to notice as he constantly cast worried glances over her shoulder towards the living room.

"Why didn't you say anything," she hissed furiously, and she could just make out the way his eyes widened in surprise in the darkness of the hallway before he frowned in confusion.

"There wasn't anything left to be said," he told her with a shrug, and Laura stared at him incredulously, throwing her arms into the air.

"You could have just said the same thing I did! He would've listened to you, John," she cried, but John shook his head, his eyes fixed on the living room once again.

"I don't think anything I'd said would've changed a thing," he said, his voice far more forlorn than Laura had expected. It took her a moment to realize that Irene's return didn't merely affect her and Sherlock, and that it really wasn't fair for her to expect John not to react as if he was merely an outside party. His best friend was being swindled by a conniving, heartless woman, and here she was blaming him for not putting a stop to it. John was clearly convinced that there was nothing he could do to stop Sherlock from falling even farther under Irene's power, and Laura's taking her rage out on him wasn't helping anyone.

"John, she's not going to take him from you," Laura assured him, rubbing her hand comfortingly along the arm of his black and white striped jumper. John looked over at her with dejection written all over his face.

"How do you know? I mean it looks like she already has," John said, and Laura couldn't help but think how odd it was for her to be the one comforting John instead of the other way around.

"Because we aren't going to let her," Laura said definitively, and his sadness seemed to recede a little. "But if we're going to stop her, you have to stay focused," she added, and John raised his eyebrows with a smile.

"Says the woman who just punched her in the face?" he asked teasingly. "That was bloody amazing, I might add," he said, and Laura waved away his comment while trying to hide her smile.

"That's in the past. Right now have to concentrate on building a case Sherlock can't dismiss, on gathering facts even he can't disregard," she said strongly, and John nodded, now wholly focused on the conversation at hand. "What has Irene told Sherlock? What does he think she needs protection from?" she asked, and John quickly filled her in on Irene's story of needing Sherlock to help her avoid the wrath of a man she'd stolen from.

"Did she say anything about being afraid of Moriarty finding her?" she asked, and when John shook his head Laura felt an intensely foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach. "He said he was after her before she died, remember? He broke into my house and nearly strangled me to find out where she was. But now that she's back she doesn't say anything about being afraid of him finding her? That isn't right," Laura said quietly, and John frowned at her as what she was saying slowly sunk in.

"Hold on," he said, stepping forward and lowering his voice as well. "Are you saying you don't think Moriarty was really after her? That—that maybe they were working together?" he asked incredulously, and Laura nodded slowly. "Jesus, that's messed up," he breathed, and Laura didn't disagree.

"It's not as if she's had my safety as her first priority in the past; this is only a small step up from the way she treated me before," Laura reasoned, and John shook his head with a disgusted expression.

"So basically you're saying she got Moriarty to attack you so we would just assume that he was the one who killed her. But what would be the point of that?"

"That way her name would be totally clear when she came back. The fact that Moriarty attacked me 'proves' that she faked her death to keep herself safe, not for some other reason; no one would ever assume that a woman would hire someone to strangle her sister just for an alibi. She's got the perfect cover."

"Then what was she trying to cover up? What kind of heist would be so important that she'd go through all this trouble?" he asked, and Laura shrugged.

"I have no idea. But whatever it is, it's big. So big that everything will go to hell if Sherlock doesn't get his head out of the clouds."

"So how do we tell him?" John asked, and Laura turned to face the living room where Irene was standing painfully close to the detective.

"I'm sure he already knows, deep down. The facts are all there, he just refuses to put them together," she said. Even as she spoke the words Laura was reminded of a seventeen year old girl, one who'd been convinced the man who was hurting her loved her despite the fact that all the evidence suggested otherwise. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she watched her sister with Sherlock, Irene using the same tactics on the smitten detective Sebastian had used on her all those years ago.

"But we're going to make him see it," she heard John say behind her, and she took his hand as she leaned back against his chest.

"Yes, we will. We have to."

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter: John and Laura attempt once again to talk some sense into Sherlock, and when that (obviously) fails, Laura decides to resort to more desperate measures.**


	28. Family Ties

**A/N: So here it is, after all this time: the next chapter! Enjoy! The next one should be up soon, and it'll kind of serve as a wrap-up of _Scandal_ (but not the end of the story, so don't worry!)**

* * *

Laura silently fumed in the back seat of the cab with her arms crossed tight over her chest and her eyes fixed on the empty seat across from her. She'd been convinced that Sherlock would listen to reason if it came from John, yet the idiot detective had proved to be far more of an imbecile than she ever could have imagined. He'd completely dismissed John's words of wisdom in a way that was unnecessarily rude, and Laura had spent ten minutes trying to, once again, convince her boyfriend that his best friend would be alright.

And because the moron had decided to remain in Irene's company while simultaneously reducing John to a despondent mess, Laura had been forced to hail a cab and make an unscheduled trip to "The British Government". John hadn't been able to get rid of Irene before she'd had Sherlock decipher some code she'd stolen from some government official, and that little scene had rubbed Laura the wrong way for a number of reasons—one of which had prompted her to venture off in search of Mycroft. Irene was meddling with government secrets and had decided to involve Sherlock in her little scheme, and Laura had run out of options.

Laura took a deep breath as the cab came to a halt when they reached the address John had given her. John had never actually sought out Mycroft but had always been brought to him by one of his company cars, so there was no telling if the address was actually accurate. But it was all Laura had to go off of, so she paid the cabbie and exited the car. She entered the box-shaped government building, and she shrugged off her coat and deposited her phone in a little bin before she passed through a set of metal detectors. She took back her belongings and then set off down a random corridor. She'd learned from John's stories of his adventures with Sherlock that if you walked with purpose, if you looked like you knew exactly where you were going and needed to be there as soon as possible, you were almost totally unlikely to be stopped.

However, after a few minutes it became clear to Laura that no amount of purposeful walking was going to help her locate Mycroft in this impossibly large building. She let out a frustrated huff and wracked her mind for what she could possibly do now as she continued down a hall. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out in the ridiculous hope that whatever text she'd just received could somehow help her. Laura let out a startled gasp as she read and then re-read the message she'd just received: "5th floor. Room 587. MH"

Laura gaped down at her phone in disbelief. She knew John probably told Mycroft that she was on her way, but the timing was still uncanny. Laura gave a little shiver before she returned her phone to her pocket and began searching for an elevator. She'd never understand how the Holmes brothers worked, no matter how hard she tried.

When Laura stepped off of the elevator on the fifth floor, she was greeted by a surge of shouting voices from down the hall. She tentatively stepped off of the lift and made her way towards the sounds that came, not surprisingly, from behind the door labeled 587. Laura didn't bother to knock before entering the room, as she was sure no one would have heard her tap on the wooden door over the commotion anyway. She pushed open the heavy oak door and found herself surrounded by chaos the moment she crossed the threshold.

Elbows jostled into her from every direction as she searched the sea of parchment-clutching businesspeople for the elder Holmes. She knew it was unlikely that he'd be out and about among the disorder, so she stood on her toes and searched the walls for the sign of a door that would lead to an inner chamber. She spotted the crossbeams of a doorway across the room, and had to fight past terrified-looking interns in order to reach her destination. The people bustling about really did seem to be in a proper panic, and Laura couldn't shake the feeling that it was due to whatever code Sherlock had deciphered for Irene.

Laura finally stumbled into the back room and pushed the door behind her with a sigh. To her relief, most of the noise outside was blocked out by the heavy door. She glanced about the room, taking in the three walls lined with bookshelves and the set of floor-to-ceiling windows that covered the fourth, before she made her way towards the table where Mycroft sat. He'd clearly composed himself just as Laura had entered the room, as the collars on his hastily unfolded shirtsleeves were still unbuttoned and the wet ring on the table from where a chilled glass of alcohol had just sat was still visible. Perhaps some of Sherlock's detective skills that she'd picked up from John's blog could be useful in day-to day encounters after all. If one could even begin to call this sort of situation "day-to-day".

"Ah, Miss Adler. How nice of you to join me," Mycroft said in a measured tone as he laced his fingers with a polite smile. It was already perfectly evident to Laura why this man annoyed both Sherlock and John so much.

She hurriedly took one of the seats at the table, as she was in no mood for pleasantries or small talk. Laura told Mycroft as many of the details as she could remember about what John had told her Irene had said about the codes, and she watched as Mycroft's expression changed ever so slightly at the mention of his little brother. Apparently he hadn't known about Sherlock's involvement in Irene's scheme—perhaps he hadn't known Irene was involved in any of this at all. Laura was glad she'd decided to pay a trip to "The British Government", and she couldn't help but wonder how many times these officials acted and made decisions without knowing the whole story—or perhaps any of it.

The moment she'd finished relaying all she knew Mycroft rose from his seat and motioned towards the door. "You're free to leave now, Miss Adler," he told her with another one of his frustratingly calm smiles. But before she could even rise to her feat Mycroft had hurried through another doorway she hadn't even noticed with his phone glued to his ear. Laura headed over to the door that led back to the main room, and she stood before it for a moment with her hand resting on the knob. She took a deep breath, steeling her nerves before she ventured back out into the fray, and then swung open the door and made a rush for the elevator.

During the cab ride home, Laura got a text from John telling her that neither Sherlock nor Irene were anywhere to be found. She sighed and leaned back in her seat as she tried to figure out exactly what was going on here. But she couldn't even come up with any ideas about exactly what Mycroft planned to do with the information she'd given him. Laura ran her hands over her face and begrudgingly accepted that there was nothing more she could do. All that was left was to hope that Mycroft would put things right and that she hadn't been too late.****

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**A/N: So one more chapter from _Scandal_ left, and then we move into the period before _Hound_ where all the exciting Laura/Sherlock things happen. And no I'm not exaggerating-there are quite a few Laura/Sherlock things coming up, so get excited! **


	29. Closing Time

**A/N: And now, after all this time, Scandal comes to an end! I hope you guys have enjoyed the road so far, but fear not, we've still got a ways to go!**

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Laura hurried under the red awning of Speedy's Sandwich Shop, and she let out a frustrated grunt as she struggled to pull her umbrella closed. Laura had always had mixed feelings about rain—sure, it looked lovely from a cozy seat inside, but splashing through the soggy streets of London was an undoubtedly unpleasant experience. The fact that John had called her ten minutes ago demanding that she meet him as soon as possible had done nothing to brighten her mood, but she'd hurried to the shop nonetheless. She presumed his reasons for meeting had something to do with Irene and Sherlock's mysterious disappearance the previous evening, and the fact that there had been no sign of Irene since.

Laura caught sight of John sitting alone in the back of the shop, and he looked up at her with a tired smile as she made her way over to him. His hair was dark brown and plastered to his head in certain spots from the rain, and he clutched onto his half-empty glass of water as if the world would shatter around him if he released his grip. This definitely had something to do with Irene, Laura concluded; no other person on earth had the power to drain someone so entirely.

"So, what's this all about then?" Laura asked in a casual tone as she draped her coat over the back of her chair and sat down. She poured herself a glass of water from the sweating pitcher in the center of the table, and she looked up at John when he failed to answer her question. John met her eye and then quickly looked away before catching her gaze again, and Laura let out a quiet sigh as she set down her glass. "Just tell me, John," she said gently, and he let out a sigh of his own as he looked up at the ceiling.

"Irene's dead, Laura," he told her, and Laura calmly took another drink of water. John frowned over at her and she gave him a small shrug.

"If you expected another emotional breakdown, sorry to disappoint," she told him, and she allowed herself a small smile at John's baffled expression. She was sure he'd expected to have to put her back together again just as he had the first time Irene had 'died', and she knew her cool reaction confused him. In all honestly, he probably assumed she was trying to push down her torrid emotions in an attempt to remain strong; Laura decided it was only fair that she give him piece of mind in the form of an explanation.

"It's just that my real sister, the one who loved me and cared for me and always had my best interest in mind, died a long time ago. I think I lost her when I lost my parents, or shortly after. I don't think I truly realized that until she 'came back from the dead' and I was forced to accept that my Irene was gone. So the fact that this other woman, this stranger with my sister's face, is dead doesn't really upset me," she told him, and John stared at her for a moment before he nodded with a small relieved smile.

Laura smiled back at him and reached forward to pull his hand from his glass and envelop it in her own. When Irene had 'died' the first time, Laura had thought she'd been left all alone in the world. But she now knew that although she didn't have a single living blood relative, she was not alone. She had John, and although she and the detective might not have been on the best terms, she felt as if she had Sherlock as well. As long as she had the Baker Street boys, Laura knew she could never truly be alone.

"So, are we sure she's really dead this time?" Laura asked as few moments later, and John gave a little shrug.

"Mycroft says he checked, so I guess we're as sure as we ever could be," John told her, and although Laura knew her face probably betrayed her disagreement, she didn't bother voicing it aloud. Sherlock had been sure the last time Irene had died, so why on earth should the elder Holmes' assurance be any more credible? But she knew John needed to believe that Irene was gone for good, that there was no way she'd ever make an appearance in any of their lives again, and so she kept her skepticism to herself.

"What's in the evidence bag?" she wondered aloud as her eyes fell on the manila folder and cell phone enclosed in the plastic bag on the table beside John. She knew the phone was of course Irene's mobile, but she was curious to know what was inside of the folder—and why John had an evidence bag in the first place.

"A gift from Mycroft," John said, and Laura noted that his discomfort had returned. He wouldn't meet her eyes, and instead keeping his gaze focused on the bag. "It's…it's a transcript of Irene's interview with US Marshalls from their Witness Protection Program, among other things," he said, and Laura's grip on his hand tightened.

"John, you can't be serious," she said with a baffled laugh, and he looked up at her with another shrug. "You can't honestly think you can _lie _to _Sherlock Holmes_," she told him incredulously, and he shifted in his seat.

"Mycroft and I both think it's for the best. You remember how he reacted the last time she died," John said earnestly, and she sighed.

"Yes, I do remember, and yes, I suppose it is for the best. But he'll _know _you're lying, John. Hell, I can tell when you're lying and I'm not even the self-proclaimed best detective in all of London," she huffed.

John extracted his hand from hers and buried his face in his hands with a heavy sigh. Laura felt a sudden surge of concern as she watched John. He looked so exhausted, so ready for all of this to finally come to an end, and she resolved then and there to leave it alone. This was just as much about John as it was anyone else—he was the one who had to live with Sherlock, who'd have to put Sherlock back together piece by piece if he went through another breakdown.

"I know, Laura. Believe me, I've thought of every reason why telling him she's alive and well in America is a stupid idea," he said, and she watched as he let his hands slowly fall from his face. "But what else am I supposed to do?" he asked, and when his voice broke on the last word Laura reached for the folder and rose from her chair.

"Come on," she told him, offering him her hand, and he took it gratefully as he stood as well. "Let's go save Sherlock from himself."

Laura stood in the doorway to 221B with her arms crossed over her chest as she waited for John. She could hear him in the kitchen with Sherlock, and she smiled to herself as she heard John give in and hand over Irene's cell phone. That man had him wrapped around his finger, she thought as she leaned against the doorframe, and she had to quickly hide her amused smile when John exited the kitchen a moment later.

He heaved a relieved sigh as he approached her, and Laura felt her smile return when he pulled her into a hug. John kissed her on the cheek, then pressed his nose against her ear as he whispered, "he's going to be ok. Sherlock's going to be alright."

"Good," she told him with a relieved sigh of her own, and John pulled away to take her hands in his.

"I need a drink," he told her as he pulled her towards the landing, and his gaze suggested that he wanted to do more with her than just share a beer. But although Laura was eager to celebrate as well, she hesitated. There was something she wanted to check on first.

"I'll meet you downstairs in a second," she told him, and John was far too excited to bother questioning her. She watched him jog down the stairs before she entered the flat and stood beside the doorway to the kitchen. She peeked around the doorframe, only to see Sherlock's microscope abandoned on the cluttered table. Laura quickly glanced around for any sign of him, and she entered the kitchen when it became clear that he'd vacated the room. She turned towards the sitting room when she caught sight of a movement in the corner of her eye, and there stood Sherlock.

He stood in front of one of the large widows with Irene's phone in his hand, and when he turned she saw that his face was spread into a triumphant smile. He tossed the phone in the air and caught it, then gave a little thrust of his fist. This was his victory dance, Laura realized, and she couldn't help but smile as she silently turned away from him and headed downstairs after John.

Sherlock knew, Laura realized with a grin as she descended the steps. Of course he knew; how could he not know? Not that Irene was dead as John and Mycroft seemed to believe, but that she was really, truly alive. Sherlock was going to be alright, Laura knew, not because Irene was alive 'in America', or even because she was alive wherever she really was. No, Sherlock was going to be alright because he'd saved her—because he'd helped Irene, just as he'd told her he would.

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**A/N: It's over! Huzzah! We made it through 30 chapters of Irene-centered drama! And now we get to move on to a new era, where the issues are caused by Sherlock's desires and Laura's inability to resist him... exciting right? **


	30. New Beginnings

**A/N: I feel like it's been so long since we've seen anything from Sherlock's POV, so I hope you guys enjoy! It'll be more common now that we're moving on to a plot that he's much more heavily involved in**

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Sherlock could clearly remember that day their lives had taken a turn towards something new. To this day he still couldn't decide if it had been for better or for worse, but there was no denying that it had been new—uncomfortably foreign, excitingly unusual, stimulatingly odd. It had been because of John, as all new things in his life seemed to be since he'd met the army doctor, but it had also been because of his girlfriend. Had John dated any other woman, things would never have altered so drastically. But John had decided to date her, and John hated chip-and-pin machines—and so a new era began.

* * *

She arrived at 221B late one afternoon with her hair in a long braid and her shirtsleeves rolled up, and Sherlock pretended not to notice her as she entered the flat. But when she asked him if John was there, and he realized she wouldn't go away unless he answered her.

"I have no idea whether John is home or not," Sherlock replied, and he frowned when her mouth spread into a small smile. He didn't understood what was so amusing about his response, and he certainly didn't understand what aspect of his answer told her it was alright for her to sit down across from him at the kitchen table.

"I'll just wait here until he gets back," she told him, and Sherlock ignored her as he returned to his observations. Sherlock wanted nothing to do with this woman, as he'd decided it was far easier to pretend that she didn't exist than to endure the strange sensations she'd provoked in him. He didn't want to consider the way his fingers twitched as he remembered how soft the skin of her neck had been, and he didn't wanted to think about the faint scent of her lotion and shampoo that now tickled his nose. So he focused on the exotic cells that floated before his eyes rather than the faint sounds of her shifting in her seat to get a better look at his experiments strewn across the table.

"What are you working on?" she asked after perhaps five minutes of silence, and Sherlock let out a huff of annoyance. She may have smelled and felt delicious, but that did not mean he had any interest in anything John's girlfriend had to say. Normally he would have jumped at the chance to speak in great detail about the experiment he was working on, but there was something about this woman that told him it was best to remain quiet. Perhaps, Sherlock would consider some time later, he'd been apprehensive because he'd known deep down that engaging in any sort of activity or even conversation with this woman would change everything.

"I know you want to talk about it," she told him, and Sherlock looked up to see a playful smile dancing on her lips as she watched him with curious blue eyes. He realized with a jolt that she wore almost the same expression John had worn on that first night they'd gone out together. Sherlock supposed their difference in personality explained why her look didn't mirror John's exactly, but it was the same at its core. Sherlock had loved that look, he'd craved that look, and it was just as enticing on her face as it had been on John's.

This woman had him now, he knew. He'd known for quite some time that he wanted her body, and now he was starting to realize that he wanted her mind as well. He couldn't have John; he couldn't—he wouldn't—risk it. But he could have this woman. A few months ago he hadn't had a clue how he would go about working his way into her head so she'd allow him access to her body. But now it was clear that he wouldn't even have to try that hard—she was offering herself to him, here and now, and all he had to do was continue to nudge her in the right direction. Soon enough, she would be his.

So Sherlock explained his experiment to her. She watched in fascination as he talked, and when he'd finished she asked him about another. And then another. They made their way across the table and then to the refrigerator as she asked about experiment after experiment, and her interest never seemed to wane. She wrinkled her nose in distaste or frowned in confusion, but she never stopped asking, and Sherlock never wanted to stop answering. Her attention was fully focused on him and nothing else, and while Sherlock had always loved being in the spotlight, he'd never experienced it like this. Her attention wasn't motivated by a need for information on a case, or even because she needed his help on verifying a scientific formula for a new medicine. No, this woman was motivated purely by curiosity, just as Sherlock always had been, and sharing his work with someone who appreciated it in much the same way he did was possibly the greatest feeling Sherlock had ever experienced.

After about an hour and a half of pure bliss, her attention was finally pulled from Sherlock as John entered the kitchen. John's eyes were wide and his mouth was slightly agape as he stared at his flatmate and girlfriend side by side with a chilled severed foot between them, and Sherlock felt an amused smile tug at his lips as John's girlfriend greeted him with a casual wave.

John frowned, his lips pursed as his fists clenched around the shopping bags he carried, and Sherlock instantly knew he should've offered to buy the milk this time.

"What are you two...you know what, never mind, I don't even care," he said as he releases his hold on the grocery bags and threw his arms into the air. His girlfriend gave a little jump as the bags crashed to the floor.

"I'm never doing the shopping again," he cried as he stomped off towards his bedroom, and a stunned silence followed.

Sherlock was acutely aware of the sound of John's girlfriend breathing beside him, and he found himself wondering what it would feel like to have her warm breath puff against his ear, his neck, his—

"So, you were explaining the strange discoloration," she said, and it took Sherlock longer than it should have to realize that she'd returned to their previous conversation. Sherlock frowned down at her as she examined the foot, and after a moment she noticed his gaze and looked up at him.

"John will be back in a few minutes to take me to dinner as we'd planned. But until then, I'd really like to know why the toenails turned purple instead of brown like you'd predicted," she told him, and Sherlock offered her a real, genuine smile—the kind he'd previously only used with John. Her eyes widened at that, but she smiled back at him nonetheless as he explained the chemical imbalance in the dead man's toes.

* * *

John's girlfriend spent a considerable amount of time at 221B after that fateful afternoon. She'd spend her time at the flat whenever she didn't need to be at her office doing whatever it she did there, and Sherlock quickly became accustomed to seeing her surrounded by papers and wasted pens whenever he entered the kitchen. She even had her own designated area of the table, free of decaying body parts and moldy breads, and Sherlock would often take quick breaks from his experiments to watch her diligently cover stacks of papers in red ink.

He'd never stare long enough for her to notice, of course, but by piecing together short glances he could stare at her for hours in his mind, analyzing every little movement she'd make. He allowed himself to take longer looks from his chair in the sitting room when he'd update his blog, but he preferred sitting across from her where he could smell her hair, see each individual strand of it and better imagine it sliding through his fingers.

Through his observations of John's girlfriend, Sherlock quickly noticed a series of patterns. For example, he developed a method of predicting how John's evening with his girlfriend would go solely based on her braid. Every day, without fail, John's girlfriend wore her hair in a single braid that flopped over her shoulder. And every day, without fail, Sherlock could use it to accurately predict whether John would be sleeping alone or not.

Whenever his girlfriend fastidiously unbraided and re-braided her hair as day came to an end, John would come in and kiss her fondly on the forehead with a brush of his fingers on her cheek. She would have already eaten by the time the army doctor returned home, so she'd merely watch as John ate whatever Mrs. Hudson had left for him and Sherlock on the counter. The couple would talk about their day as John ate, and her fingers would absentmindedly drift along her lips and occasionally into her mouth as she watched John. Sherlock's fingers would freeze mid-type from his position in the sitting room whenever she'd touch herself in such an unintentionally erotic way, and John would often pause with his fork halfway to his mouth as well. John would clear his throat and continue to eat, pretending as if he hadn't noticed, and Sherlock would force himself to get his mind back on task. John's girlfriend wouldn't notice either men's reactions, and once John had finished his meal they'd head upstairs together or they'd go to her flat just a few minutes away. If they did decided to entertain themselves in John's bedroom, Sherlock would pretend as if the walls were just as soundproof for him as everyone else as he ignored the creaking of John's bed among many other noises.

If John's girlfriend didn't fiddle with her braid as the day came to an end, the night would not be nearly as frustrating for Sherlock. Her fingers wouldn't wander as John ate, and rather than venture upstairs or to her flat, she and John would drink his cheap beer and watch TV until midnight. After a few hours of television John would escort her downstairs to hail her a cab, and she would return home to her flat. But John would continue to drink, and he and Sherlock would stay up together into the wee hours of the morning.

John's face would glow with an alcoholic buzz, and he'd laugh and make senseless jokes rather than slip into that surly disposition he'd so often embraced when drunk in the past. John would explain different aspects of shows that Sherlock didn't understand, and he seemed to find everything funny, everything enjoyable, everything interesting. Sherlock himself wouldn't drink, as the sight of such a jovial John was always enough to keep him from getting bored, but he always felt as if the high John got from the alcohol transferred over to him as well. On these nights, Sherlock was forced to admit that he enjoyed John's company even more than normal after the army doctor had spent time with his girlfriend.

* * *

The change may not have been evident to any of them at the time, but Sherlock would recall, years later, that that one afternoon had been the spark that lit the fuse. Those patterns that he'd noticed and eventually made it his mission to break would be the death of him—both of them, John and his girlfriend, would be the death of him. This was their life now, and there was no denying that all three of them were connected by circumstance, common interest, and what would quickly become a very destructive desire. But as the bonds that connected them thickened and changed in nature, it set events into motion that would one day send their entire world crashing around their heads.

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**A/N: And so it begins! There was abit of totally-not-obvious foreshadowing there at the end, and I honestly cannot wait to write the next few chapters! I mean if you thought John and Laura were an awesome couple, wait until you see what happens next! I'm not implying that Sherlock and Laura are going to be a couple per-se, so don't worry about that. I'm just saying that when they're _together_...well, you'll see! **


	31. First Kiss

**A/N: I think the title of this chapter pretty much says it all (I mean it's called First Kiss for a ****_reason_****, guys), so enjoy! **

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"I require your assistance," Sherlock called from the living room with an impatient tap of his foot. He'd taken to asking John's girlfriend for help on various experiments, and although John had told him not to bother her while she was working, Sherlock knew that she enjoyed being his lab partner. But this experiment wasn't like all the others, even at its core—it wasn't motivated by curiosity but by something far more carnal, something Sherlock was incredibly eager to give into.

He counted the seconds it took her to enter the sitting room from the kitchen where she'd been scribbling enthusiastically in the margins of a thick stack of papers. Fourteen. She looked around the room expectantly upon entering it as she searched for whatever he could possibly need help with.

"If you're still working on that crustacean research, I don't think I'll be of much help," she told him with a smile, and Sherlock felt a jolt in his lower abdomen as he watched her pink lips spread to reveal white teeth.

Sherlock silently motioned for her to step closer, as he didn't trust himself to speak while she approached without hesitation. After all his waiting, all his yearning, the time was finally right for him to indulge, and he fought hard to contain his excitement.

Sherlock reached forward to touch her neck, and she instinctively lifted a hand to pull her hair out of the way. She thought he was checking up on her to make sure Moriarty hadn't done any long-term damage, Sherlock realized. She thought he was so much more than he was—so much more than passion and desire and instinct and hunger. But Sherlock knew now that at the core, every human was just a conglomeration of animalistic urges; the only difference between himself and the rest of his species was that they tried to hide what they were while he endeavored to embrace it.

"Don't," he commanded, and his voice was weaker than he would have liked. She looked up at him in surprise but dropped her hand nonetheless. _She trusts you_, Sherlock heard in his mother's voice, and although he told himself he wasn't breaking this woman's trust, not really, he still pushed his mother's words as far from his mind as he could.

Sherlock stepped closer and traced his fingers reverently over the soft skin of her neck, the skin that had haunted his dreams for months, and told himself that this had nothing to do with trust. It was all about hunger and nothing more; humans were nothing more.

Her hair brushed the backs of his hands as he touched her, and the dark locks were softer than down feathers against his knuckles. She stared at him with her mouth slightly agape, and Sherlock found that now that he'd glanced at her lips, he couldn't tear his gaze away. They were so pink, so inviting, and Sherlock had never so desperately wanted to feel anything beneath his tongue; it was as if her mouth was an impossibly strong magnet, pulling him closer with a frighteningly strong force.

He took yet another step forward, and he knew he had to act fast before she pulled away; despite her mystified expression, he probably didn't have much time before she realized his true motivation had nothing to do with her well-being.

In one swift motion Sherlock bent his head and caught her lips in his. The kiss was gentle enough not to scare her away, but it contained enough passion for him to be sure his intentions were clearly communicated. _I want you_, his lips said soundlessly, and with an intensity that sent his own spine tingling. She stood motionless before him, and while she didn't respond, she didn't push him away either; _I don't know if I want you or not_, he translated. Sherlock was determined to change that.

After a few more long, drawn out kisses, Sherlock slowly dragged his tongue across her bottom lip with a low groan. She leaned into him ever so slightly, and he even heard her let out the tiniest of whimpers in response—success. _I don't care if I want you or not, this feels fucking amazing_, her reaction told him. Sherlock brought his other hand to the back of her neck and tilted her face up towards his, creating the perfect angle for him to push his tongue between those wonderfully soft lips. He allowed his eyes to drift shut as he explored her mouth, and he focused his attention entirely on taking in every delicious sensation that came with kissing Laura.

She tasted just as incredible as she smelled—if not better—and Sherlock couldn't help but wonder if she possessed some sort of genetic mutation that made her so bloody irresistible to him. He massaged the nape of her neck with his thumb, and a surge of pleasure rushed through him when his rhythmic rubbing evoked another quiet noise from her throat. He could feel her skin vibrate beneath his fingers on her neck as she hummed into the kiss, and that familiar heavy, weighted feeling low in his belly only intensified.

Her head seemed to be entirely supported by his fingers, and Sherlock's tongue met no protest as it continued to roll against hers and graze the roof of her mouth; Laura was entirely at his mercy. As if in celebration of his conquest, Sherlock plunged a hand into the mass of dark hair he'd fantasized about for so long. He relished in the feeling of the soft tresses sliding through his fingers, and he could feel a strain in his trousers that he hoped Laura wouldn't notice—that part of the encounter would come later.

When he finally pulled away, Sherlock watched Laura's face slowly transform from completely transfixed to terribly confused. He quickly regained control of his breathing before he calmly turned away from her and sat down at his desk, and he discreetly adjusted his trousers before he took hold of a pen and pad of paper. Sherlock scribbled random words and numbers onto the notepad as he watched Laura out of the corner of his eye. She frowned as she trailed her fingers along her lips and pressed a palm against her neck.

"What...what just happened?" Laura asked quietly, sounding utterly lost.

"Experiment. You were quite helpful in procuring the final bit of data," he said flatly, and she nodded slowly. Sherlock was sure she took his improvised lie as truth, but her frown didn't fade.

"Oh. Ok. Well I'm glad I could help," she said uncertainly, and Sherlock looked up at her.

"I mean...I just meant..." Laura looked distressed as she struggled to make it sound less like she'd enjoyed kissing him and more like...well, Sherlock was confident she would rather believe anything the fact that John Watson wasn't the only man who could make her skin tingle.

"It's alright, I understand," he told her, and her discomfort visibly increased; he did indeed understand— maybe even better than she did—and he knew that deeply unsettled her.

"I…uhm, I have to get back to...uh…" Laura gestured weakly over her shoulder, and she was clearly desperate to get away from him. Sherlock nodded and she hurried back towards the kitchen, and he smiled as he watched her go. She may have fled just now, but he was confident that in less than a month's time, she'd crave his touch so strongly she wouldn't be able to stay away.

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**A/N: I hope you guys liked it! And this is only the beginning; like Sherlock said, ****_that_**** part of the encounter will come later-although really it's a lot sooner than later. Sherlock's not really the "let's take it slow" type, especially since he's spent all this time waiting, wanting to get it just right!**

**Anyway, next chapter we get to see Laura's reaction to this little 'experiment' of Sherlock's!**


	32. Sleeping to Dream

**A/N: So, on to the aftermath of Sherlock's test! Gah I just love this section of the story so much :D**

* * *

Laura stumbled back to the kitchen table and sat down heavily in her chair. Her lips and neck tingled, and she felt as if her skin was stretched too tight over her bones. Troves of energy bubbled within her, but she had no way of releasing the sudden surge of adrenaline . She wanted to run, to jump, to senselessly flail her limbs about and howl until her lungs felt sore—anything to get rid of this trapped, caged feeling. Her every muscle seemed to shudder and tremble as she fought to keep herself still, and she was sure she looked like a junky who'd been off her meds for far too long as her eye gave a twitch and she rubbed a nervous hand into the back of her neck.

Sherlock had kissed her. He'd only done it to procure data for an experiment, she knew, but the oddity of it had thrown her, had _thrilled_ her, and now she felt as if she would never be calm again. She could plainly see that the encounter hadn't provoked a similar physical reaction from him; if anything, Sherlock had been unusually stoic and reserved as he'd scribbled on his notepad after their kiss.

Laura wished she could say the same for herself, and she honestly couldn't understand why her mind refused to let her focus on something, anything, else. Her mind raced in a thousand different directions at once, spinning and tumbling in a dizzying blur, but all roads led straight to Sherlock.

Laura took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she repeated to herself that it had merely been an _experiment_. Sherlock constantly preformed odd tests, and it just so happened that this one had involved…kissing. And touching. Such lovely touching. She could feel his lips now, velvety soft and just so _warm_ on hers, and those cool hands were on her throat as her pulse hammered beneath the light touch of his fingertips.

Laura dug her nails into the wood of the table and took another shuddering breath. It was just an experiment, nothing more, and she needed to stop thinking about it because it really wasn't worth dwelling on. Sherlock had collected whatever data he'd needed, and now he was probably sitting at his laptop typing up his findings. He would further analyze the evidence he'd gathered, and in record timing he would come to some conclusion no one else ever would have even considered.

She relaxed her grip on the table as she desperately held on to this protective cocoon she'd so effortlessly wrapped herself in. But her restless mind scratched at the shell from the inside, and within moments the barrier fell away and Laura was forced to face the truth. She didn't know why Sherlock had kissed her, not really. He'd confidently informed her that the kiss had been in the name of science, but she honestly wasn't sure she believed him. Or, perhaps, she merely didn't want to believe him.

Laura frantically tried to push away the idea that she _wanted_ Sherlock to want her, but it was too late. His tongue slid between her lips, tickling the roof of her mouth in a way that sent her nerves tingling, and his hands tangled in her hair as the soft pads of his fingers massaged the nape of her neck.

Laura leapt up from her seat and her chair scraped loudly against the floor, but she ignored the noise as she quickly gathered her things. She couldn't stay here—as long as she was so close to him, so close to the place where he'd kissed her, there was no way she was ever going to get him out of her head.

She avoided so much as a quick glance in the direction of the living room as she hurried out of the flat, and she didn't even bother hailing a taxi back to her flat.

Laura kept her eyes downcast and tried to keep her thoughts focused on the pavement beneath her feet as she headed home for a very long, very cold shower. These thoughts of Sherlock were becoming more compromising by the minute, and the sooner she got him out of her head, the better.

* * *

Laura had never had any trouble distinguishing between dreams and reality, but the cold colorless floor beneath her bare feet in this particular dream seemed so real it rocked her confidence. She was standing in a white room, and had no idea how large or small it was. It was completely barren, devoid of all life or existence other than herself, and her breath felt incredibly loud in the empty space. Laura got the feeling she wasn't supposed to be there, and so she began to walk.

After what could have been seconds or years, she came upon a sturdy workhorse standing alone in the emptiness. It had a light brown coat with a sandy mane and tail, and Laura could see the thick muscles in its shoulders and legs as it shifted its weight over its wide hooves. It waited patiently as she approached, looking ready for anything but totally at ease. She felt the sudden urge to reach out and touch it, and the coat felt safe and familiar beneath her fingers.

The horse moved its head towards Laura, gently nudging her in the chest with its snout. She turned to face him—for she was certain the horse was male—and stroked his velvety nose with an amused smile. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his, staring into his captivating dark blue eyes. Laura reached up and rested her hands on his sturdy mane, then closed her eyes and let out a sigh of contentment. But then the horse suddenly disappeared, and Laura was left with her arms wrapped around John's neck. She opened her eyes to see the army doctor standing tantalizingly close to her, his naked body only centimeters away.

She stared at him, and the dream became far more enjoyable than confusing when John slid his arms around her and began to kiss her. Laura pulled him closer to her, sighing into his tender kisses as he slipped his hands beneath her night shirt and pressed his palms against her lower back. Laura shifted closer to him, but the moment she attempted to deepen the kisses and press their hips together, John vanished.

In his place lay a huge black panther, its long body stretched out lazily on the white ground. Laura wanted to search for horse-John, but she found herself inexplicably drawn towards the large feline sprawled out before her. Instead of squatting down and petting it, Laura simply stood before the panther and waited, her hands resting on her hips. The cat's light blue, almost alien eyes seemed to narrow in response, and she got the distinct feeling this feline knew something she didn't.

The panther rose gracefully and began to circle her, stepping just close enough for her to feel the intense heat radiating from its body in waves. She watched it with a strange fascination, keenly observing the way its huge paws spread to support its weight with each step and its muscles rippled beneath its pelt as it walked. Without warning the panther's long, thick, and incredibly soft tail slid across the backs of her bare legs. Laura's knees buckled at the sensation and she fell to the ground, reaching out for the panther to break her fall.

When Laura looked up, her hands were tangled in the mop of Sherlock's messy black curls. He was kneeling before her, completely naked, and she felt a rush of heat flood her face when she found she couldn't look away. Laura's eyes explored his skin, and she frowned slightly as she took in his unfamiliar, surprisingly toned body; for a man who treated himself so unkindly and carelessly, he was incredibly fit, and looked to be in rather good health.

But all thoughts of Sherlock's condition were instantly pushed from her mind when he leaned forward, his large cool hands low on her hips, and began to kiss her neck. His lips were hungry and shockingly hot, and Laura found her grip on his hair tightening as his tongue pressed against her throat. She twisted into him rather than away from him with a gasp when his teeth scraped her flesh, and she breathlessly encouraged him to repeat the motion. She could feel him breathing in the scent of her, his nose rubbing insistently at the skin just behind her ear.

Laura couldn't remember taking off her shirt, but she was suddenly topless and sprawled out on the ground with Sherlock above her. His pale hands cupped each one of her breasts in turn as he sucked hard at her nipples, his tongue swirling around the tender skin in a way that drove her crazy. His hands were everywhere at once: tangled in her hair, tightly gripping her hips, stroking the backs of her thighs.

Laura pressed herself up against him, her mind reeling so fast the only coherent thought she could form was 'more, more, _more _' chanted over and over again in her mind. Her fingers knotted in his hair and then her legs were spread wide as Sherlock shoved himself into her and fucked her hard, his cock ramming into her again and again.

He panted and gasped as he voiced all the various indecent things he wanted to do to her for the rest of eternity; Sherlock wanted to tie her up and spank her until her skin flushed red, to trace every curve of her body with his tongue, to come in her hair and watch his semen trickle down her neck. His massive cock, skilled hands, and hungry mouth sent her screaming in pleasure, and Laura found herself begging Sherlock to preform each and every vulgar act he'd promised right then and there on the white floor.

In that moment, Laura had never wanted anything more than she wanted Sherlock Holmes.

But the entire time she was with panther-Sherlock, the indignant neighing of a very angry and very confused blue-eyed horse could be heard from somewhere in the distance.

* * *

**A/N:** **So I know every writer adores reviews, but I really need your feedback here more than ever because the story has taken a turn and I want to know what you guys think of this "new era"; so: **

**SHERLOCK + LAURA : AM I DOING A GOOD JOB? YES OR NO?**

**I NEED TO KNOW, GUYS. **

**JUST TELL ME IF YOU LIKE IT OR NOT AND I'LL STOP BEING SO NEEDY AND INSECURE (actually I doubt I'll stop, but it'll make me happy and who doesn't like a happy author?)**

**P. so I don't freak anyone out, John is definitely ****_not_**** being written out of the picture here. Things are just starting to get a lot more...complicated.**


	33. Foreign and Familiar

**A/N: The effects of Sherlock and Laura's kiss just keep coming back in this next chapter! And they're not all that positive either...let's just say what Laura's now experiencing gives her quite a hard time.**

* * *

When Laura awoke, she felt as if she'd spent the entire night submerged under water. Her mind felt slow and bogged down and, and her muscles felt unusually heavy as she lay motionless on her back. But as bits and pieces from her dream began to float through her mind, her heat rate spiked and her breath came in short labored gasps as if her ribcage was suddenly too heavy for her lungs to lift. She could feel a desperate, yearning ache in her lower abdomen, and she was now aware of a distinct dampness between her legs.

Laura pushed her fingers below the waistband of her underwear, her fingers exploring her own skin as her eyes fluttered shut. She imagined Sherlock's tongue, hot and wet, rather than the soft pads of her own fingers as she caressed the sensitive area, and she could feel his nose pressed against her as he deeply inhaled her scent. Her own breathing was heavy now, her knuckles dragging against the tented fabric of her underwear as she slid her fingers further downward until she could push them inside of herself. Laura bit down on her lip and let out a whimper as she began to roll her hips up into her fingers. She thrust up off of the bed and dug her fingers farther, remembering the feel of Sherlock's cock buried deep inside of her, but it wasn't enough. She needed more—she needed him. Imagining it wasn't enough; she needed those lips on her neck and that tongue in her mouth and that cock ramming inside of her.

Laura jerked her hands away from herself and sat up with a panicked gasp as realization hit her like a jarring slap to the face. She'd just been masturbating to the memory of a vivid sex dream she'd had about Sherlock Holmes. This was wrong, so very wrong that Laura felt bile rising in her throat at the very thought of it.

She scrambled out of bed and into her bathroom, and she quickly removed her soiled underwear. She tossed it into the trash with a shudder, not wanting to ever be reminded of the disturbing path her mind had raced down in the last few hours. She scrubbed at her hands with copious amounts of soap and water, wanting to erase any memory of her body's reaction to her dream. She gripped the sides of the counter with red fingers once she'd finished, then glanced up at herself in the mirror.

Sleep-mussed black curls framed a face that was paler than usual, and she could just make out the faint marks on her lips from where she'd bitten herself a few moments ago. Sherlock's lips had tugged at that exact spot just a few hours ago in his flat, she realized, and she watched as a blush traveled up her neck. When her mind began to drift towards all the other areas Sherlock's lips hat touched in her dream, Laura turned away from the mirror and turned on her shower.

She quickly washed herself, fighting away thoughts of herself sandwiched between Sherlock and the cold tiles, and when she exited her bathroom a few minutes later she forced herself to focus entirely on choosing what outfit she'd wear to the office today. In her current state, Laura didn't quite trust herself to spend an entire day alone with Sherlock at 221B.

* * *

Laura leaned back on her mattress and wrapped her arms tighter around John's bare shoulders as he continued to kiss her. His hands were warm and slightly dry on her stomach as he climbed over her on the bed, and Laura sighed into the kiss as his fingers worked at the clasp of her bra.

She'd spent the entire day feeling hunted, looking over her shoulder as if she'd been trying to catch a culprit red-handed in some sinister plot. But now, here, with John, she finally felt safe again. She felt at home with his familiar lips working at her neck as those fingers she knew better than her own played with her nipples. She pushed a hand into his short sandy hair to feel the short locks brush against her palm, and she let out a quite moan when John ground his hips against hers. Their legs were tangled together and she could feel his half-hard cock straining against his boxers, and everything about this situation just felt _right_.

There was nothing to be ashamed of when John pushed himself into her a while later and began to move over her. She didn't feel guilty when his rhythmic thrusts sent her gasping in pleasure and made her clutch at his lightly tanned back. And she didn't feel tainted or unclean when her muscles clenched as she breathlessly choked out his name and he let out a heavy groan as he came inside of her. It felt natural, being this way with John.

When John rolled off of her, Laura forcefully told herself that she had _not_ thought those things in order to keep herself from thinking of Sherlock. She had _not _been comparing the two men when she'd thought of how familiar John was because that was just ridiculous—why would she compare the man she loved to a man she had only the most platonic feelings for? So no, she hadn't focused on John's familiarity to convince herself that she wanted him rather than Sherlock.

Because Laura already _knew_ she wanted John, not Sherlock. John was the one who wrapped his arms around her and snuggled into her, pressing his nose into the spot behind her ear and murmuring "I love you." John was the one whose nose she placed a quiet kiss on after assuring him that she loved him too—because she did. John was the one whose amused, adoring smile and the way the skin crinkled around his eyes still managed to send her stomach fluttering. John was the one she loved, the one she wanted, and the one she'd always have.

* * *

The next few weeks were difficult for Laura.

Things weren't noticeably different between her and John to even the most observant eye, and she doubted he'd picked up on any sort of change in her mood. She still smiled at him in the same way, still joked around with him, and still relied on him just as he relied on her—in short, she was still his Laura as far as he was concerned.

But Laura knew things had changed. She may have managed to keep up appearances on the outside, but internally Laura was not the same woman she'd been just a month before. She constantly fought to keep back little nagging thoughts that she wanted nothing more than to do away with. She now had to focus on aspects of her relationship with John that had been effortless and natural before. It exhausted her, having to make sure he thought she was content and happy and still whole inside, but she knew there was no other option. This was her problem, not John's, and involving him would only destroy everything that made her life worth living.

Because what could she possibly say to John if she ever decided to confide in him? That his flatmate and best friend had kissed her for an experiment and now she couldn't stop thinking about his touch, his smell, his taste, to the point that it terrified her? That she knew she still loved John but that she didn't know what to do with these chaotic and frighteningly powerful feelings she had for Sherlock? No, there was no way Laura was going to even begin that conversation. So she resolved to fix things in the only way she could: by ignoring her feelings until they eventually faded away.

Laura began to spend her days at 221B again, and she managed to convince herself that it was because if she'd learned anything in the past few months, it was that she would never be able to get past an issue if she didn't first confront it. Her return to the flat had nothing whatsoever to do with a desire to be around Sherlock, she told herself.

And that statement was partially true. Because as much as she wanted him—_didn't_ want him; Laura _didn't_ want Sherlock—being around Sherlock was uncomfortable, stressful, and a constant test of her self-control. Every day she worked at the flat was spent with her eyes pointedly fixed on whatever manuscript she was editing as she forced her mind not to wander. She did her best to ignore the sounds of him typing at his computer in the sitting room, but it was always harder to deny his existence when he'd preform experiments in the kitchen. He'd sit across from her at the table, his knee just a few inches from hers, and Laura would find that she'd read the same paragraph three times because she'd been imagining that knee of his pushing her thighs apart as his heavy groans and her own breathless encouragements filled her ears.

Laura would remain at 221B until John arrived home just as she'd done in the past, but although she hated to admit it, she couldn't deny that waiting for John's arrival was no longer as exciting as it had once been. She still felt just as restless as evening approached, but it was more because it would mean an end to the tense privacy with Sherlock than because of a longing to see her boyfriend. Laura knew it was wrong, it was sick, but she didn't know any way to stop it other than merely to merely wait it out.

Her stomach would drop whenever Sherlock would ask her for help with his experiments during the day, and she took to asking him exactly what he wanted her to do before she would agree. He always asked mundane things of her, nothing quite as exciting or traumatizing as a kiss, and Laura's relief was always accompanied by disappointment when the words "I need to perform oral sex with you for science" always failed to emerge from those plump pink lips of his.

One afternoon Sherlock asked her to help him sort through the hundreds of papers he'd scattered across the sitting room floor, and she kicked off her shoes before sitting with him on the floor among the documents. They sorted the papers into various stacks based on the contents, and the two of them sat for hours surrounded by stark-white stationary covered in the legal jargon they were forced to decipher. His fingers often brushed hers when they both reached for the same sheet, and she wished she could tell herself that Sherlock probably didn't notice the red flush of heat on her cheeks whenever his skin, so soft and warm, made contact with hers. She kept her gaze downcast the entire time they worked, not trusting herself to look at his face as troublesome fantasies broke her concentration on the case at hand time and time again.

Laura was honestly beginning to think that Orion Pelkin's killer might go undiscovered merely because she was too enthralled with the idea of Sherlock's fingers pushing between her lips until she could feel his knuckles between her teeth and those soft pads sliding against her tongue. But John arrived just as she was beginning to lose hope, and she felt relief wash over her even as she gave a little jump when she heard him enter the flat. The way she thought of Sherlock wasn't fair to John, she knew, but she sternly told herself that the sickness in her stomach wasn't guilt, because technically she'd done nothing to feel guilty about. She still loved John as much as she always had; it was just that recently things had gotten a little more…complicated.

She looked up when John squatted down beside her, but rather than smiling over at him as she'd intended, her eyes found Sherlock's. She stared at the detective's mouth even as John's lips brushed her cheek, and she could have sworn she saw a hint of envy in Sherlock's eyes as John tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and let his fingers linger on her face. She turned towards John then, desperate to get away from the now obvious hunger of Sherlock's gaze, and she gave her boyfriend her best smile.

It was now painfully clear to Laura that her worst fears and greatest desires had simultaneously been confirmed: the kiss had _not_ just been an experiment. Sherlock wanted her, perhaps just as badly as she wanted him, and that idea terrified her just as much as it thrilled her.

Laura climbed up from the ground with John's help and stood close in front of him, letting her lips brush his ear as she whispered that they should head back to her flat. John's eyes darkened as he nodded with that familiar smile of his, and she stomped down at that growing queasy—not guilty—feeling in her gut as she fleetingly thought of that first time she'd seen that smile in this very same room.

She hated to mislead John this way, but she couldn't be near Sherlock, not now. It was far too dangerous for her to be anywhere near him now that she knew this rampant desire wasn't one-sided.

But Laura also knew that no matter how hard she tried to stay away, she'd end up coming back to Sherlock eventually. The pull was far too strong for her to resist now, and there was no doubt in her mind that no matter how terrible the consequences, she would give into the desperate hunger that raged within them both.

And, just three agonizing weeks after the kiss that changed it all, that's exactly what Laura did.

* * *

**A/N: So, I hope you guys liked it! Next chapter things continue to heat up (I told you guys this would escalate quickly) and Sherlock and Laura reach the point of no return just as the end of this chapter suggests! (Interpret that however you'd like; I assure you that whatever you're assuming is going to happen in the next chapter probably will). **


	34. Climax - Part One

**A/N: So, here's the chapter I know you've all been waiting for! It's called ****_Climax_**** (and not just for literary reasons) and it involves Sherlock and Laura so hopefully you can see where I'm going with this... and it's a two-parter, which means double the fun! Enjoy!**

* * *

Laura held back a heavy sigh as she rinsed off the last of the dishes that had cluttered the counters of 221B since 8:30 that morning. She'd offered to tidy up the kitchen when Mrs. Hudson had mentioned a lunch date with her new love interest, the owner of the sandwich shop next door, and the older woman had been delighted by Laura's show of kindness. But now that Laura had finished the job, she found herself wondering what other menial tasks she could perform. She desperately needed to keep her mind occupied, but spending hours confined in the same tense position at the kitchen table had left her muscles feeling achy and sore. She supposed she could continue cleaning the flat, but she had no desire to venture into the rest of the apartment where she knew Sherlock might be lurking.

Laura drained the lukewarm dish water and began to wipe down the sink, and she took her time as she prolonged the minutes until she would be forced to return her pointless quest to keep her mind from wandering. She wrung out the dish rag and rinsed her hands, but she felt her stomach drop once she shut off the water and was suddenly aware of the distinctive creak of floorboards.

She knew it was too late for her to return to her seat without crossing paths with Sherlock, so she anxiously waited for him to preform whatever task had brought him the kitchen. She scrubbed her hands dry with a towel, and she forced herself not to think of how it would feel to be pinned between him and the refrigerator with his hands in her hair and his mouth hungrily attacking her own.

Laura hoped Sherlock would just take what he needed and then make his way back into the sitting room before her restless mind became too much for her to bear. But the odds of him passing up a chance to interact with her looked ever slimmer as the sound of footsteps continued to approach.

He stood close behind her now, and Laura was beginning to fear that perhaps her waking fantasies had finally become indistinguishable from reality. But as Laura's fingers dug into the rough material of the towel and a sick sort of excitement rose within her at his proximity, she came to the conclusion that this was not a dream. She had never felt like this in a dream—her fantasies had always been perfectly enjoyable, not bogged down by fear and apprehension entangled with eager desperation.

Sherlock really was there. She was sure of it. In fact, he was currently standing so close behind her that she was sure she'd be able to feel the buckle of his belt pressed against the small of her back if she leaned backwards just a fraction of an inch.

She felt trapped, but not in the way she had for the past few weeks. This was exciting, dangerous, nerve-wracking, and although Laura knew it was wrong she couldn't help but take pleasure in it. She could almost feel the fabric of his clothes shifting with his movement as he leaned even closer to her, and his breath puffed out onto her neck as he pressed his nose into the spot just behind her ear and breathed deeply.

Laura let out a small involuntary whimper as his palms came to rest on her hips, but she didn't regret the noise as she gave up on trying to control her rampant desire. There were so many things Sherlock could do to her here in the privacy of the flat, and her excitement only grew as scores of possible scenarios raced through her mind. The knowledge that Sherlock wanted her enough to nuzzle his face into her neck and breath in her scent like an animal was more enticing than she'd thought was even possible. She'd never felt this hungry, never experienced such a carnal craving for warm flesh, and it aroused her just as much as it terrified her.

She knew that what she was doing—what she hadn't even done yet— was wrong for a number of reasons. But as Sherlock turned her around so that she faced him, Laura couldn't bring herself to care. She could only stare up into those ice blue eyes that glowed with a blazing fire that she hoped would consume her entirely.

The pressure of his hands on her hips increased, and her gaze slid down to his mouth. Those lips had haunted her dreams day and night, and she'd indulged in the feel of their memory on her own mouth and body whenever she was alone. Now they were just a few inches away, coming ever closer, and Laura was reminded of the unexpected pleasure she'd felt the first and only other time her mouth had met his.

Her mind had done its best to recreate the feel of his mouth in the time since, but when Sherlock kissed her, his fingers lifting her chin and his head angled downwards to compensate for their difference in height, Laura discarded everything she'd thought she'd known about kissing Sherlock. This sensation was new, and completely different from their previous kiss. She wasn't frozen in shock or fear like she'd been before. Despite the light-headed fuzziness she felt, she was now in control of her actions, and her ability to respond to Sherlock's movements made the kiss all the more enjoyable.

His lips were velvety soft beneath her tongue and plump between her teeth, and he let out a deep, heavy groan when she reached up to slide her hands into his silky dark curls. He really had wanted this as badly as she had, if not more so, she realized, and Laura knew there was no way Sherlock would fail to meet her expectations as he moved even closer to her. She shivered as his cool knuckles brushed her skin when he un-tucked her shirt, and she could just barely feel the backs of his fingers on her stomach as he unbuttoned her blouse from the bottom up.

Sherlock's touch was barely more than the caress of a feather as he slid her blouse from her shoulders and the shirt fell back into the sink, and she tugged at his hair and sucked at his lip with a yearning moan. She wanted him to _fuck_ her, to drag his fingers and tongue and teeth and nails across her hungry body and give into all his darkest fantasies as he took her apart piece by piece. He was being gentle, acting cautiously, and that wasn't what Laura wanted. She was tired of being cared for, of being saved, and she wanted—no she _needed_— Sherlock to throw her well-being to the wind and fuck her like that fantastical creature had in her dream.

Sherlock somehow seemed to understand everything she'd hoped to convey in her single needy groan, and the full surface of his large palms now pressed into her bare stomach. He pushed his hands upwards, his nails scraping her skin as he attempted to push his fingers beneath the underwire of her bra. His lips moved against hers with force, his tongue shoving and his teeth scraping, and Laura pulled at his hair again as she encouraged him to be as rough with her body as he was with her mouth.

Sherlock slid his hands down to her hips in response, and the cold metal of the sink that had chilled her lower back was replaced by the relative warmth of his touch. Then his fingers were on the clasp of her bra, unhooking the small metal conjunctures before sliding the straps from her shoulders. Sherlock's mouth left hers then, and she sucked in a gasp as he savagely gnawed at her neck. His tongue pushed into her throat and her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she held him close to her, desperate to keep up the wildly pleasurable biting at her neck.

But Sherlock squirmed from her grasp as he bent further downwards, his mouth chasing down her chest and leaving a line of angry red marks in its wake. His hands slid down her back as he slowly licked up her breastbone, his heavily-lidded eyes drifting up to meet her gaze. Laura stared at him in fascination as he unzipped her tight skirt, one hand pulling down the zipper as the other slid beneath the fabric of her underwear to cup her bare ass. Her hips angled towards his as his fingers kneaded her ass, and she continued to watch Sherlock as he moved his head to one side and flicked out his tongue to tease at her nipple. Her fingers clenched in his hair, and the groan he let out in response only made her tighten her grip.

Sherlock pressed his lips against her nipple and slowly sucked it into that perfect mouth of his, and her eyes widened in surprise as he continued to take in more of her breast until he could explore the entirety of the darker skin surrounding her nipple within the confines of his lips. Laura's eyes fell shut as she let out a breathy sigh of disappointment mixed with excitement as Sherlock let her breast fall from his mouth and he pushed her skirt and underwear entirely from her hips.

She now stood completely naked before him as his teeth scraped her ribs and his tongue traced the same raw skin. Her hands remained submerged in the downy mop of his hair as his lips sucked a trail down her stomach. His hands had slid from her ass to tickle the backs of her thighs, but as his mouth moved further downwards his fingers made their way around to her front to stroke her inner thighs. Laura instinctively widened her stance as Sherlock's fingers moved ever closer to her damp vagina, and she could feel his breath puffing against her even as her own breathing grew heavier.

Laura had expected to feel Sherlock's fingers, warmed by their interaction with her skin, slide against her and eventually make their way inside of her. But when Sherlock kneeled before her and pressed his nose into her, breathing deeply just as she'd imagined that morning after her dream, Laura knew this was going to be so much greater than she ever could have anticipated. She let out a desperate whimper when his lips enveloped her clitoris, and she cried out when his tongue made its presence known to slowly caress the incredibly sensitive area. Laura's eyes screwed shut and her breaths came in labored gasps as Sherlock continued to kiss and lick at her vagina, and she reached back to grip the sink for support with one hand when her leg muscles began to spasm and tremble.

Laura cupped the base of Sherlock's head with the hand she kept buried in his hair, and she smashed his face harder against her with a shuddering gasp when he pushed his tongue inside of her. His fingers dug into her hips with a strength that made her wince as she thrust her pelvis into his face, but she didn't even try to hold back. When he let out a heavy groan Laura felt a jolt of surprise as she realized her forcefulness had excited rather than annoyed him. But her ponderings of Sherlock's state of mind were instantly forgotten as he groaned again and the vibrations his mouth made against her vagina seemed to melt every bone in her body.

When he removed his tongue and began dragging his teeth along her vagina, Laura was sure she'd reached the highlight of her life and she could now die knowing nothing would ever eclipse this moment. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't think—all she could do was twist her fingers into Sherlock's hair and keep pushing her hips into his face while his mouth did such dirty, wonderful things to her.

His tongue was back now, moving in tandem with the teeth, and as Laura cried out she knew she couldn't go on much longer. She was falling apart, her mind unraveling and her muscles constricting as the pleasure filled her every cell until she was ready to burst. She was fucking Sherlock Holmes in the mouth; the man she'd fantasized about for so long was now kneeling before her with those hot lips and teeth and tongue working at her vagina and sucking and licking and dripping and groaning and scraping and pushing and digging and—

Laura cried out as loud as her vocal cords would allow as her every muscle continued to coil, squeezing and clenching as jolts of indescribable pleasure punched through her with mind-boggling strength. She was surrounded on all sides by breathtaking euphoria, suspended in a tight cocoon of rapturous gratification, and in all her time on earth Laura had never felt so _alive_. The sensation continued for an exorbitant amount of time, allowing Laura to indulge in the orgasm so fully, so completely, that she felt her nerves beginning to fray from prolonged exposure to such an outrageously blissful experience.

But something finally gave and the gloriously taught string snapped, her entire body shuddering as the built-up tension released in a flood and sent her tumbling over the edge. She nearly collapsed in relieved exhaustion as her mind drifted in a hazy cloud, and she was sure that nothing else on earth could ever make her feel the way this had.

Laura sucked in heavy gasps of air as she slowly came down from her high, the intense euphoria gradually seeping away but leaving her with an immense feeling of giddy satisfaction. Her fingers ached from where she'd clutched onto the sink to keep herself from collapsing, but she didn't trust herself to release her grip as her muscles seemed to have a hard time recovering from their pudding-like state.

A slight movement at her hips brought Laura's attention back to the man who'd caused her euphoric state, and she glanced down to see Sherlock's brow furrowed in concentration as his tongue slid across his lips. She felt a jolt of animalistic hunger as she watched that pink tongue, the tongue that had more or less driven her crazy for the past few weeks and had nearly driven her out of her mind just now, slide across red, swollen lips.

His mouth was smeared with her, and Laura felt a terrifying sense of power and an intoxicating need for control as she took in the sight of him kneeling before her with her brand of ownership clearly marked on his face. Sherlock glanced up at her when he noticed her gaze on him, and she watched the hunger return to his eyes when he caught sight of her expression. He slowly rose to his feet, and Laura applied more pressure than was needed with the hand she'd kept tangled in his hair to bring his face down to her.

His eyes danced across her face as if he wasn't quite sure what was going to happen now, and it took Laura a moment to realize the reason for his sudden nervousness. Although it was clear to her that Sherlock had intended to have his way with her from the moment he'd first kissed her, it hadn't seemed to have crossed his mind that she might want to have her way with him as well.

In fact, the same could be said for Laura; in all of her fantasizes, she'd been touched and kissed by Sherlock but had never really responded to his actions with any of her own. She'd enthusiastically encouraged him and had gone along with every act he'd preformed with her, but had never really taken it upon herself to decide what course the encounter would take.

But now, as she pulled Sherlock in for a commanding kiss, Laura was eager to discover all the wonderful things she could do to him now that she'd taken charge and claimed him as her own.

As Laura let go of the sink and stood on her own two feet in favor of jerking at Sherlock's belt, she decided she would make it her mission to undo Sherlock Holmes as thoroughly as he'd just undone her.

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**A/N: That was pretty good right? (This is me trying to be humble; I'm kind of obsessed with this chapter and it took ****_forever_**** to write so hopefully you guys like it too!)**

**That part at the end with Laura talking about control/power was pretty eerie, no? I hadn't really planned on it but I was listening to ****_Bottom of the River_**** by Delta Rae when I wrote it so I guess the darkness of that song kind of transferred over to the chapter?**

**Anyway, part two will be up soon, I'll probably write it tomorrow. There will be a sort-of special guest appearance in part two...it's from Sherlock's POV if that gives you an idea of who it'll be...it really isn't all that hard to figure out, but it doesn't really happen in the way you'd expect...Oh, cryptic author!**


	35. Climax - Part Two

**It's been a while since we've heard from Sherlock, but he's back just in time for some ****_quality time_**** with Laura! But before you read this chapter, just remember: Sherlock's got a ****_beautiful mind_****. Yes, I just made a movie reference out of an important plot-point.**

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Sherlock pulled his face away from Laura as he heard her take in a heavy breath, and the musty scent of her still flooded his nostrils even as he sat back on his heels. He licked his lips, trying to classify the odd flavor of the secretion currently smeared across his mouth. It was strange, unlike anything he'd ever tasted, and Sherlock decided he'd have to file it under the entirely new category of sensations he'd had to create in the last thirty minutes.

Sherlock had thought the emergence of his arousal had been new back when his erotic feelings had first appeared. But after what he'd just experienced, he knew that actually _being_ with someone, not just fantasizing about it or imagining it as he touched himself, was nothing like anything he'd ever encountered. He couldn't relate it to any feeling, couldn't compare it to any sensation—it had all been new and shocking and wonderful.

He'd planned all his actions to the letter over the past few weeks as he'd prepared for this moment with Laura, but he hadn't been able to predict exactly how she would respond to his advances. He'd done his best to make sure she'd be open to his advances, but he hadn't counted on her hunger, her ferociousness, and how it had affected him.

Even now, as she stared down at him with that expression of lusty dominance, he felt a shock of surprise as a current of desire jolted through his cock. This wasn't the Laura he knew, the Laura he'd preyed after for so long. But it was the Laura he wanted. He didn't really know where this new version of her had come from, but he was pretty confident he'd been the catalyst to spark the change. He'd noticed a difference in her behavior and had noted anxiety and nervousness over the past few weeks—but nothing like _this_, nothing that had so perfectly reflected the way he felt inside.

Sherlock had never really understood why he wanted Laura, and he'd never really bothered to think about it. But now, as he kneeled before her with her fingers in his hair, Sherlock knew it was because they were the same. She'd buried her desires deep inside of herself, and only now was she beginning to embrace the dark hunger within her. Just as her appearance in his life had sparked his own sexual awakening, Sherlock now knew that his presence had been the thing to bring her desires to light.

He and Laura were the same.

Sherlock looked up at her now, the heavy weight low in his stomach growing as he watched the way her eyes scanned his face with an unbridled and desperate hunger. She was ravenous, starving for him, and Sherlock felt his heart rate stutter and accelerate as he climbed to his feet. Her fingers dug into his scalp and brought his face closer to hers, and although the feeling of not knowing exactly what would come next unsettled him, it was not an unpleasant sensation.

Her lips tugged at his as she sucked eagerly at his mouth, and Sherlock felt light-headed as her tongue slid against his. This wasn't what he'd expected, what he'd anticipated based on months of gathering evidence, but the fact that this was something new made it all the more enticing. He no longer felt uncomfortable due to the lack of predictability of her actions as her fingers clawed at his belt buckle. His nervousness was replaced by hunger as she unzipped his pants and pushed them from his hips, and he groaned into her mouth once she'd removed his shirt and began scraping her nails down his chest.

Laura's small, incredibly warm hands pressed into his stomach when she pulled her mouth away from his to dig her teeth into his throat. Sherlock's fingers dug into the smooth flesh of her back as he struggled to get enough oxygen to his heaving lungs, and he could feel her scalding fingers graze his hips as she pushed his underwear down to his thighs. Her mouth was on his stomach now, sucking down his abdomen to lick at his pelvis, and then he was gasping and chocking as the head of his cock was enveloped in a gloriously wet heat.

But a moment later the intense inferno of pleasure was gone, only to be replaced by the slow stroke of a soft palm up his quivering shaft. Laura's hand moved over his cock in a rhythm that had his breath coming in needy gulps, and it was with a shock of senseless want that Sherlock recalled he'd so often dreamed of touching John in this same way.

Sherlock could feel a second pair of hands on his hips now, larger and rougher and with a grip that was much firmer than Laura's. He could feel shorter, stockier legs flush against the backs of his own. The light dust of hair on the broad chest pressed against Sherlock's narrow back tickled his shoulder blades, and the length of an erect cock rested against his left buttocks. He turned his head to the side, catching a whiff of that familiar scent, and he nearly collapsed in surprise or excitement or possibly just _want_ as his nose brushed the sandy blonde locks of John's hair.

He felt John's breath puff against his neck as the man pressed his chin against his shoulder, and Sherlock could do little more than let out a startled whimper when John's finger traced a circle around his anus. Sherlock groaned as the army doctor slowly pushed a slick finger into him, and Sherlock fleetingly tried to take note of the sheer oddness of the resulting sensation when his muscles shifted to accommodate the unfamiliar digit. But when Laura's mouth made its presence known on his cock once again, Sherlock knew there was no chance of him documenting this set of sexual experiences.

Her lips folded around the head as her hand continued to pull long strokes up his shaft, drowning him in that wonderful liquid heaven even as she made up for the remaining space with her hand. Sherlock groaned as her tongue began to work at the vain on the underside of the head of his cock, rubbing insistently at the tender spot, and just a moment later John crooked his finger and began to massage Sherlock's prostate.

When John pushed in another finger to join the first in its devilish stroking, Sherlock felt his senses melt away as he began to rock his hips towards Laura's welcoming mouth. She sucked him in farther with every thrust he gave, and Sherlock took in a desperate gasp when a third finger slid into him.

This was too much for him, so much that he could feel himself unraveling with every movement from John and Laura. He was falling apart. But Sherlock's feelings of apprehension were long gone, and all that remained was an eagerness to continue on into the blissful unknown.

This was so much more than even he, the Great Sherlock Holmes, could have anticipated, and as his cock made its way closer to the back of Laura's throat he knew he couldn't mess this up. When he finally came, it would have to be perfect, it would have to be _right_, and Laura kneeling before him with her face hidden from view didn't fit that image.

Sherlock reached down to place a trembling hand on Laura's shoulder, and even when he applied more force than he thought would've been necessary, she still resisted him. When she finally pulled away Sherlock glanced down at her, and he nearly came right then and there as he watched his cock slowly slide from her mouth. Her heavily-lidded gaze trailed up his body to finally rest on his face, but Sherlock's attention was still entirely focused on that mouth. Her lips were bright red, swollen, and glistening with saliva, and he wished he could feel her tongue inside his mouth even as it worked at his cock. He wanted Laura's mouth all over him, everywhere at once, sucking and kissing and biting and sucking and licking and _sucking_.

His gaze was pulled away from her lips by a slight change in her expression, and Sherlock took in her creased brow and worried eyes. She looked upset, and Sherlock felt a pang of dread as he realized that perhaps he'd managed to ruin everything in his quest for perfection.

"Do you not like it?" she asked in a small voice with her head cocked ever so slightly to the side, but Sherlock was entirely distracted from the question at hand when she slowly circled her thumb around his tip.

"I—no," he choked out, and he had to reach down and firmly grip her wrist before he could even begin to think straight. "I like it very much," he assured her breathlessly even as he felt his lips spread into a smile he hadn't intended to give. She smiled back at him, and for a moment he caught a flash of the Laura she'd once been: kind, gentle, and loving—the Laura he'd destroyed.

"Then why'd you make me stop?" she asked, her brow furrowing again, and he rested a hand on her cheek without thinking. Rather than focusing on answering her question, Sherlock instead wondered exactly why he'd been the one to break Laura open and reveal her true animalistic self. Why had her relationship with John not shone any light on her real identity?

It seemed the more he thought about Laura, the more questions he conjured that he had no way of answering. But Sherlock couldn't bring himself to feel annoyed by this fact, and he really had no desire to dispel the increase in curiosity it provoked.

Sherlock aimlessly continued to stroke his thumb down Laura's cheek, and he found himself captivated by her swollen red lips once again. His thumb slid across her bottom lip of its own accord, the slick heat of her thin flesh pressing into his finger as he watched in fascination. Laura's lips parted ever so slightly as he continued to touch her, slowly dragging his thumb back and forth, and his breath caught in his throat when his nail made contact with the white ridge of teeth.

Sherlock was once again aware of John's fingers inside of him when he felt a hint of tongue against the pad of his thumb, and his eyes fell shut when Laura's lips enveloped his finger. She sucked him into her mouth, her tongue stroking and her teeth grazing, even as John licked a line up his spine and sucked between his shoulder blades.

His thumb was left cold and abandoned when Laura suddenly nuzzled her nose into his thigh with a desperate moan. Then her mouth was on his cock again, and he reached down to bury a hand in those soft black tresses. Her head bobbed back and forth before him, and his ears were filled with the sound of her greedy sucking and her starving moans as she sought to devour him entirely with that ravenous mouth.

Then her fingers were kneading at the spot just behind his balls, her touch further stimulating the very same area John had spent so long stroking from inside of him. Sherlock pitched forward to grip the cool metal sink as the pleasure reached a nearly overwhelming level, the two of them provoking sensations he hadn't even known were possible. He was going to come soon, he knew. He was going to explode inside the hot wet utopia of Laura's mouth, his semen was going to pour down her throat, and then he was going take John in his hands, his mouth, his ass, anywhere really, just to hear the army doctor whimper and shout his name.

But this new Laura was his creation, he reminded himself in a sudden surge of self-control; this encounter with her had to be perfect, had to be right. And although they'd ended up in much the same position they'd been in before, Sherlock was not going to give up his determination to reach perfection. He reached down to push at Laura's shoulder once again, and he met even more resistance this time as he insistently pressed his palm into her collar bone.

She finally moved away with a huff of indignation, but despite his murky mind Sherlock managed to take control of the situation before Laura could speak.

"I want you up," he commanded, and Laura's lips pouted as she remained motionless before him. He could tell she'd rather enjoyed sucking him—to say the least—but she was his creation and therefore it was his right to dictate their sexual activities. He'd let her take charge earlier because of the novelty of the experience, but there was no way Sherlock was going to let this newborn ruin his plans merely because she'd yet to learn the best ways to embrace her newfound desires.

"I want to watch your face again," he told her, and he felt his cock twitch as he watched the way her tongue slid across her lips in response to the unexpected roughness of his tone. She now looked almost eager to be controlled, to be dominated, and Sherlock was only too happy to comply.

"I want to hear you choke out my name again," he growled as he took her by the arm and pulled her to her feet, and her eyes widened at the strength of his possessive grip. He hadn't hurt her, he knew, but seeing that little spark of surprise and hint of fear in her eyes sent his heart pounding.

"I want to see you in ecstasy again," he said as he hooked his arms beneath her and hefted her onto the sink, and she sucked in a gasp as her arms flew up to wrap around his shoulders. There wasn't even a hint of resistance in her now, and the knowledge that he had managed to tame her, had managed to make her his, only increased the strain in his cock.

Sherlock took a step closer to Laura, sliding his hands up her thighs, but he paused when John's fingers disappeared only to be replaced by something hot and thick and hard. Sherlock's eyes screwed shut and he let out a shuddering moan as John penetrated him, an odd dull pain mixing with an intense pleasure as John's length just continued to push into him with no sign of stopping. And then John began to rock into him, gently thrusting his hips forward until Sherlock began to thrust as well.

His cock entered Laura almost by accident in his blind search for friction, pressure, heat, any sort of physical contact, but he felt as if he was being submerged beneath a whole new level of pleasure when he did push into her. The feel of John moving back and forth behind him paired with her muscles perfectly surrounding his cock sent his mind reeling, and Sherlock was aware of nothing more than how wonderful these sensations were.

John's fingers dug into his hips as the shorter man quickened his pace and began to thrust into him with more force, and Sherlock's own movements accelerated and increased in strength in response. John panted into him, his face pressed against Sherlock's back between his shoulder blades, and Laura buried her face in Sherlock's hair as she let out a whimper at the end of every breath. He was surrounded on all sides by rampant desire, and when John began to roughly shove himself into him, Sherlock allowed himself to accept that this was what life was really about; if humanity was motivated by hunger, then this was the satisfaction he'd been waiting his entire existence to experience.

Laura's arms tightened around his neck and he wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her in place as he pounded into her. John's thrusts were savage now, rough and without restraint as he dug his blunt nails into Sherlock's thighs. Sherlock could tell John was close as the army doctor pushed so hard Sherlock would've stumbled forward if it wasn't for the sink before him. He heard Laura give a desperate cry, louder than any noise he'd heard from her before, as her muscles squeezed around his cock. She continued to tense and tighten for a gloriously extended out amount of time, her voice ringing in his ears as her entire body trembled against him. Sherlock tried his best to hold on, to prolong this nirvana, but his body finally overcame his willpower in a forceful explosion of semen. And then Sherlock was coming, the tightened cord within him finally snapping even as a hot liquid flooded into him from where John shuddered against his back.

Sherlock felt as if the air had been knocked from his lungs as all of his energy surged out of him in a rush, but the feeling was far more pleasurable than anything he'd ever experienced. A moment later he was in free-fall, floating on a cloud of euphoria as chemicals and hormones swirled in his brain and instantly made him the happiest man alive. Although he knew it was all just a chemically induced orgasmic high, Sherlock didn't even bother to think about the science behind it as he relished in the pure bliss he felt.

But as the feeling faded and he became aware of his surroundings again, Sherlock noted that his back felt shockingly…vacant.

He lifted his head from where it rested on Laura's shoulder, and her hands, now sleepy with sex, fell from his hair as he turned away from her. The space behind him was empty, with the kitchen table and chairs serving as his and Laura's only company. His back was clean and relatively cool, and although his body still buzzed and ached from the afternoon's activities he could detect no sign that he'd been touched by anyone other than Laura. He scanned the area twice, taking in every aspect of the kitchen and even the landing beyond as he forced his mind to detect whatever vital piece of evidence he'd missed.

But after four seconds of hard deliberation, Sherlock was forced to accept that there wasn't a shred of evidence to suggest that John had set foot in the apartment since he'd left for his shift at the surgery that morning.

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**A/N: WRITING A THREESOME IS FUCKING HARD [pun not intended but I'm proud of it anyway] so I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter because it literally took FOREVER to write! I don't think I'm ever doing that again— it was actually ridiculously difficult, and it wasn't even a legit threesome seeing as John kind of faded in and out depending on where Sherlock's attention was focused!**

**But I'm really happy with how it turned out — the end result was worth slaving over for days (because I really have been actively working on this for the past three days).**

**Anyway, next chapter: Laura actually starts to realize the consequences of her encounters (both real and imagined) with Sherlock.**


	36. Deception

**A/N: So I know I've been gone for a while but this chapter is actually ****_insanely _****long so hopefully you can see why it took so long to write! It's got angst and depressing thoughts, as well as sex and adorable-John; I guess you could say this one chapter contains pretty much all the elements of this 'second era' of the fic all wrapped up into one! Enjoy!**

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Laura heaved a heavy sigh as her muscles relaxed and she slumped forward onto Sherlock. She felt impossibly dense, weighted down by a sudden wave of exhaustion, and she hardly even noticed the odd rush of liquid within her followed the desperate groan that ripped from Sherlock's lips a moment later. She was in a daze, overwhelmed by a pleasure far more intense than anything she'd ever experienced before, and Laura wanted nothing more to remain suspended in this lethargic heaven forever.

But Sherlock shifted and she was forced to adjust, her hands falling from his wild halo of black curls as he turned his head to glance across the room. Laura draped her arms around his shoulders instead, then lazily followed his gaze as she drowsily wondered what could have possibly caught his interest.

The table was surprisingly clean from her morning of housekeeping, but as Laura scanned the kitchen table she caught sight of John's favorite mug on the far end of the table.

The sight of one of the few objects that John had ever attributed any sentimental value to brought a queasiness to her stomach and a shortness to her breath. The mug was stained, she noticed, and Laura felt as if she'd been punched in the gut as she realized that now, after what she'd just done, her own relationship with John was stained as well.

In fact, Laura realized with increasing disgust, her thoughts during her encounter with Sherlock had been even more shaming than her actions. She'd wanted to control Sherlock like some kind of animal, some sort of inferior being, and that perverse desire brought on more self-loathing than Laura thought it was possible to experience. In her relationship with John she'd always felt like an equal, but with Sherlock she'd felt so helpless that she'd rebelled in the form of seeking to control him in a rather terrifying manner.

The helplessness she'd felt with Sebastian had led her to self-harm and even a nearly successful suicide attempt, and now the lack of control she'd felt with Sherlock had brought out a darkness in her that was eerily similar to the very monster she'd hated and feared since the age of sixteen.

Laura had wanted passion, she'd wanted heat, and for some reason she'd looked for it in the worst place imaginable: in the alluring promises of a high-functioning sociopath. She didn't understand why she'd done what she had; she's always found Sherlock fascinating, but couldn't' remember ever actually deciding for herself that he was someone she wanted. He had simply arrived, pushed himself into her mind and then firmly planted himself there with no sign of ever leaving.

Laura had never wanted to become someone like Sebastian—someone who forcefully controlled others because they possessed no real control of their own situation. But being with Sherlock, falling under his spell and allowing herself to give into him, had made her into that person. She was now no better than the very creature she'd hated and despised for so long, the very person who'd ruined her life, and now Laura felt as if she had no choice but to hate herself as well.

Sherlock turned back to her, pressing his nose against her neck, and his fingers were soft and gentle as they carefully explored her hip. For the first time Laura found herself wondering if she'd misjudged Sherlock; perhaps sex wasn't all he'd wanted from her. It seemed as if he honestly did enjoy touching her, smelling her, being close to her.

But when she glanced over his head and caught sight of the lonely mug on the table, Laura knew it didn't matter how kind and sincere Sherlock was deep down—this was wrong and it had to stop, here and now.

Laura gripped Sherlock's arm as tightly as she could, ignoring the way her fingers still trembled as she pushed him away with as much force as she could muster.

"Stop," she told him, her voice more desperate than strong as he gaped at her in bewilderment. He looked as if he might step forward again, might drown her resolve in another embrace that would be far harder to deny, so Laura leapt down from the sink and quickly moved away from him.

"Stay away from me," she cried rather hysterically as he stood before her naked and confused. The full force of what she'd done, of what she'd been doing for weeks now, hit Laura with all the strength and chaos of a derailed train. She felt as if her lungs had shriveled up into unhelpful little raisins and she couldn't breathe, she was choking, she was going to die. Sherlock had killed her.

Tears now inexplicably flowed from her eyes as she shoved her arms into her shirtsleeves and haplessly buttoned her blouse. She was shaking with fear and guilt and self-loathing and she felt as if she might vomit at any moment and she _had to get away from him. _

Laura shoved her underwear into her purse as soon as she'd pulled on her skirt and pushed her feet into her shoes, and she fought to get air into her raisin-lungs as she hurried from the flat and all but tumbled down the stairs. She burst out onto the street and threw herself into the first cab she saw, not bothering to apologize to the startled man she'd stolen the taxi from. The moment after she'd blubbered her address to the cabbie, she curled up in the backseat and shamelessly sobbed into the leather cushions.

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Laura clutched a mug of steaming tea in her slightly shaking hands as she sat with her legs folded in the middle of her unmade bed. Her damp hair slowly increased in fizziness around her shoulders, and her skin still felt chilled and clammy from the cruelly cold shower she'd cried through upon arriving home.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been home, how many hours had passed since that hateful scene. She also didn't have a clue exactly how many cups of tea she'd had, as she mindlessly wandered into the kitchen to refill her mug whenever her tea supply ran low.

Of course, Laura hadn't even begun her chain-drinking immediately upon arriving home. She'd had a sort of mental breakdown when she'd stumbled into her flat and had suddenly realized that she and Sherlock hadn't used protection. She hadn't been concerned about infections or diseases seeing as she doubted Sherlock a) had had enough sexual encounters to develop an STD or b) would allow his body to go without treatment for any sort of illness.

No, what had shocked and terrified Laura was the prospect of conceiving Sherlock Holmes' _baby_ and having to deal with the impossible consequences, choices, and responsibilities that would stem from such a horrific turn of events. She'd come to the realization while standing on her own two feet, but had found herself on her back on her living room floor a moment later as the repercussions of her mistake just continued to surface and pulled her farther down with every moment that passed.

Laura had desperately told herself that she didn't need to worry, that one unprotected fuck wasn't going to make her a mother. And although Laura knew that that sort of thing happened all the time to women who'd made far fewer mistakes in life than she had, it was the one and only lie Laura had ever honestly managed to hold onto. Because she knew that if she didn't let herself believe it, if she didn't clutch onto it for dear life, then she'd quickly end up on the same dead-end road her experience with Sebastian had pulled her towards.

So Laura had picked herself up, pulled herself together, and started making tea. Because Laura Adler was not going to give up this time; she was going to endure when her life shattered around her, just as she always had, then tape herself back together and just keep on going. Damaged goods or not, she would persevere.

* * *

Around six o'clock that evening Laura finally pulled herself back into the bathroom for another, kinder shower. She used warm water this time, and gently washed her skin instead of violently scraping at it the way she had earlier that day. She carefully ran a brush through her hair as she forced herself to stare into her steamy reflection, and dabbed concealer underneath her eyes to downplay the puffy redness that still hadn't completely faded.

She arrived at the restaurant early just to avoid having to watch John smile at her as she approached the table; this way she could keep her eyes focused on the busy street beyond the window and only look up at him when he lowered himself into his seat and it became impossible for her to pretend that she hadn't noticed his approach.

Laura smiled at him when she finally did look at him, and John smiled back once he accepted the menu their waiter handed him.

"I noticed you weren't at the flat when I got home this afternoon; I thought we'd decided to walk over here together?" he said as he unrolled his utensils from his napkin, and Laura couldn't help but see an accusation hidden in his question. He didn't know, she told herself. He couldn't know. There was no way. He was just making small talk. Nothing more.

"Oh, I left half of a manuscript back at my apartment so I just went back home to finish working on it; I figured you could brave the dangerous streets of London without me by your side, but clearly I'd misjudged you," she told him, adding a playful smile to her teasing words as she reached forward to brush her fingers along the back of his knuckles. She tried her best not to feel too guilty about using Sherlock's skills of deception to dupe John. But she had to do what was necessary to keep them all from tipping over this ledge they'd somehow ended up precariously perched upon.

John's brow slightly creased and Laura felt her stomach drop.

"Alright," he said a second later, offering her a nod with a trusting smile. But Laura knew he didn't believe her, that now he was lying too in an attempt to give her a false sense of security.

But how had he known? Laura knew she couldn't have been that shabby of a liar, especially with so much at stake; the only thing that would make John doubt her was if he had solid proof of his own.

Laura held back a frustrated sigh of self-loathing as she realized that of all the excuses she could have chosen, she'd picked the one that had confirmed her dishonesty. She'd left the manuscript on the kitchen table, pens and briefcase and all, when she'd left 221B in a rush. So John knew without a doubt that she was lying about her reasons for not being at the flat …but he'd chosen not to confront her about it.

Laura didn't quite understand what could possibly be going on inside John' head, but she endeavored to keep the conversation away from the topic of her deception and behave as normally as possible to make up for her blunder.

They shared a rather uneventful meal, the two of them laughing and joking the same way they always had. And yet there was a distinct undertone of unmentioned tension, a sort of elephant in the room—and a bloody big one at that. She knew John could tell there was something off, and when their waiter left carrying their empty dessert plates he finally ceased skirting around the issue.

"Laura, is everything alright with you?" he asked, leaning forward ever so slightly as his brow creased with worry, and Laura was momentarily taken aback by his gentle, honest concern. Sherlock had never looked at her like that—no one had ever looked at her like that, no one but John.

God, how had she been so _stupid? _Here she was having to lie to the most wonderful man she'd ever encountered just because…Laura still didn't even know _why_ she'd done what she had. But she did know that it was over and that John could never know. She could never reveal the truth and hurt him like that—not any more than she already had.

"Nothing's wrong," she told him with a slight frown, ensuring that her response would make him doubt his obvious certainty that she was in some sort of danger. "Everything's fine, John," she promised with a soft smile, reaching forward to slide her hand into his and slowly running her thumb over the inside of his wrist.

His tongue peaked out between his lips as he watched her thumb, and his eyebrows lifted ever so slightly in question.

"Is Sherlock home?" she asked softly, mentally patting herself on the back when she succeeded in making it clear that she was asking to see if the apartment was empty rather than because of any interest in the detective.

"I haven't seen him all day," John told her, his voice drifting off as he watched her fingers push beneath the cuff of his shirtsleeve and gently trace circles along his forearm.

"We should go back to your place then," she told him, letting her nails slightly graze his skin.

Laura needed John to agree to go back to 221B. She wanted to erase the memory of what she'd done with Sherlock, to burn it away with acid if she had to. The only way she'd been able to think of was to replace her recollection of being with Sherlock with the experience of having sex with John. She knew it didn't really make all that much sense, but at this point Laura was willing to do anything to get Sherlock out of her mind once and for all and go back to those blissful days when John was all she knew and ever wanted to know.

"Ok," John said breathlessly, and when he smiled at her she wished she could smile back with a light heart instead of one weighted down with guilt.

* * *

Laura pushed John down into his maroon leather armchair the moment he'd shrugged off his jacket, and he let out a startled grunt that quickly morphed into a pleased groan when she climbed onto his lap and began attacking him with kisses. She slid her hands into his hair and pushed herself hard against him, letting out a small sigh of her own when his hands squeezed into her ass and her hips began to push forward into him.

Laura frantically un-tucked her blouse and undid the buttons with eager fingers, shucking her shirt even as John's hands came forward to work at the front-clasp of her bra. He fondled her breasts and sucked at her neck even as she endeavored to pull open his shirt, but after a few seconds without success she decided that the buttons were taking too long and she needed him _now_.

So Laura abandoned her efforts to undress him and instead climbed off of him. She quickly removed her underwear, tossing the fabric to the side as she released her hair from of its carefully crafted bun with her free hand. John stared at her in shock, his chest heaving and his mouth agape, and she felt a surge of want as she noted the lovely bulge in his trousers. Laura looked back up at his face, at those kind dark blue eyes, and she kept her gaze focused there and _not_ on that dreadful kitchen as she hiked up her skirt and returned to his lap.

"Christ, Laura, what's gotten into you?" John panted as she tugged at his belt and skillfully undid his trousers. He looked quite eager to see what she'd do next, but also a bit terrified by her sudden disregard for the rambunctious but loving foreplay they'd once so enjoyed. Laura could hardly believe it, but it seemed as if even now, even as she worked so hard to put things right, these hateful changes Sherlock had brought about in her still got in the way.

She slowly dragged her tongue along her palm, loving the way John's eyes widened, before she reached down and wrapped her hand around his cock. As Laura listened to the slight hitch in his breathing, she decided to focus on bringing John back to her and returning herself to John. Even if they could never be what they once were, they could at least be together as they made their way into this brave new world.

John let out a hungry groan when she let her thumb trace over the head of his cock, his bewildered question forgotten as she kissed at his neck. She continued to stroke him until she could feel the full and hard length of him heavy in her palm, and a distinct yearning deep within herself.

John's hands were on her thighs now, pushing her skirt higher until he could easily push his fingers between her legs, and Laura sucked in a gasp when John began tracing caressing circles around her clitoris even as she stroked at his cock. She reached forward to grip onto the back of the chair with one hand and pushed her face harder into his neck, scooting forward to move even closer to him.

John was so good to her, always had been, and dear God she loved him so much, she needed him so much. She'd been so stupid, abandoning him the way she had, and now all she wanted was to have him back. And here he was, hot and slick in her palm even as she leaked all over his fingers. She had him and he had her.

John's other hand reached behind her and cupped her ass, his fingers pushing into her to lift her up until she kneeled in the perfect position to lower herself down over his cock. Laura pulled her face away from John's neck as he penetrated her, and she leaned her head back to take in a heavy gasp as she pushed him into her. She began to rock into him, biting down on her lip as she shifted until she found that perfect angle that sent the level of pleasure spiking and made her grip tighten on the back of the chair.

Laura quickened her thrusts, desperately pushing her hips forward even as John's hands on her ass pulled her into him with every thrust she gave. John's fingers dug into her flesh as he jerked her into him with more force, and she arched her spine to push her chest harder against his. John was rougher than normal as he pulled her into him, and Laura forced herself not to think of Sherlock, of the way she'd encouraged him to fuck her like the animal in her dream.

Desperate to get Sherlock out of her head, Laura pushed harder into John as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. John gripped onto the chair's arm rests, and she cried out as he began to lift his hips off the seat with every thrust. Laura leaned away from him as she bounced up and down on his lap, clutching the back of the leather chair with a slippery hand as she pulled him towards her.

"Come on, John," she encouraged in a loud, breathless voice, wanting to see just how hard he could push into her. John gave a rough grunt as his hips bucked upwards with enough strength to send the two of them tumbling to the ground, and she cried out in surprised delight as they crashed to the floor.

"Don't stop," she begged once she regained the breath that had been knocked from her lungs, and she wrapped her legs around John to hold him in place. She needed him to keep going—they couldn't give up now. If they didn't finish this, there was no telling how long Laura would have to endure the plague of thoughts of Sherlock. This was her only solution, her only hope, and it _had_ to work.

"Harder, John," she whimpered, despite the fact that he already pounded into her with more force than he'd ever used before. He stared down at her in bewildered confusion, his face flushed and clouded with obvious desire even as his darkened eyes remained sincere.

"I don't want to hurt you," he panted in a wavering voice, and she glared up at him. She needed him to hurt her, to destroy her, to completely pulverize her—to do anything that would eclipse the memory of her time spent with Sherlock. Surely pain was more memorable than pleasure? A stab to the eyeball clearer in the mind than a kiss on the cheek?

"Dammit John," she growled, digging her heels into his ass, and he hesitated for just another moment with a fleeting look of concern before he ducked his head and let out series of deep, quick grunts as he began to furiously ram into her.

Laura's eyes clenched shut and her fingers dug into his back as her mind was flooded with a mix of throbbing pain and pleasure, and she knew it would be over soon as John let out a shout out and each of her own desperate cries was cut short by a hitch in her breath. It still felt good, so good—bloody amazing, really—to have John fuck her with so much determination, so much strength. But even as the tension within her continued to rise in that wonderfully suspenseful way that almost drowned out the pain, Laura knew it wasn't right.

She dug her nails into John's back and outright screamed as she came, her spine arching upwards and her eyes rolling back, and John let out a loud halting shout as he exploded inside of her a few moments later.

As her pleasant high faded, Laura couldn't shake the knowledge that while she had orgasmed, it hadn't been that wonderful feeling of loving release she'd felt with John in the past. It had been tainted, mutated by the way she'd forced a change in order to try and avoid the consequences of her time with Sherlock.

Laura felt her throat tighten and her eyes began to sting as she lay on her back and came to the realization that she really had ruined the single greatest thing she'd ever had—and all because she hadn't been able to resist Sherlock's advances. She'd ruined everything, thrown it all away, smashed it all to pieces, and now she could never get it back.

She'd ruined her relationship with John and now she had nothing.

"Oh God Laura, don't cry; I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," she heard John murmur, his voice strained with worry, and she opened her eyes to see him staring down at her with an expression clouded with guilt and self-loathing. He reached down to wipe away one of her tears, his thumb grazing her cheek as he repeated his heart-felt apology.

Laura felt as if she might be sick; John thought she was crying because he'd hurt her.

Laura didn't deserve him. Not even a little.

"It's alright John," she told him, her voice tight and her head throbbing. How could she have done this to him, have put him in this position? She couldn't possible let him go on thinking that this was his fault, that _he'd_ done anything wrong.

He was perfect, had put her first at every turn. She was a fiend, the worst woman to ever walk the earth.

"No it isn't," he told her with conviction, and she briefly let her eyes fall shut as she searched for the strength to go on. She should just leave now, run away and stop hurting him before it got any worse. But she was too weak, too selfish, and so she stayed.

"That isn't why I'm crying," she told him without opening her eyes. She didn't want to keep watching the way she was ruining him. She just wanted it all to stop.

"Then what's wrong?" John asked, and Laura wondered if she could manage to hold her breath until she passed out and could just sleep forever. That sounded nice. But no, John was a doctor. He'd save her, he'd bring her back to life, and then she'd just be back here again with the added guilt of owing him her life in more ways than one.

"You haven't been the same for the past few weeks," he added as he lightly trailed his fingers down her face, his skin dampened by the tears that just didn't want to stop falling.

John's last few words were like a sharp jab to the gut. Despite all her efforts, John had still managed to pick up on the fact that she'd changed, that things were different now. She'd wanted so badly to let him continue in blissful ignorance even if she'd had to endure the pain, but the idea that she hadn't even been able to keep him in the dark before things had gotten this bad only made her feel worse. Even before today's events her attempts to protect him, to protect herself, had failed.

"I…I can't," whispered, her voice catching on more unshed tears as she finally opened her eyes to look up at him. John stared down at her, his brow still furrowed in concern even as his face fell ever so slightly. He'd been asking her to trust him, she knew, and she'd outright refused.

But she couldn't tell him—she wouldn't do that to him, to herself, to Sherlock.

A sob exploded from her without warning, and Laura fleetingly wondered if she could actually drown in her own tears. She reached up her hands to hide her face from John, to hide everything about herself from John. God, if she wasn't so weak, so disgustingly helpless, she'd leave and take every horrid aspect of herself as far away from him as possible.

"Shh, it's alright love," John whispered as he gently pulled her hands from her face, but she still refused to look at him as he gently kissed at the backs of her fingers. She tried to control her breathing, to halt her tears, but she just wasn't strong enough.

"Come here," she heard him murmur ever so softly as he sat up to lean his back against the leather chair, and she let him pull her into him. "It's alright," he repeated, and Laura still couldn't bear to look at him as she crawled into his lap, snuggling against his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. John slid an arm around her, running his fingers through her hair as she nuzzled into the soft fabric of his shirt.

Laura had no idea how long they sat there, the night slowly continuing on even as they sat together suspended in time. After what could have been hours or just a few minutes John placed a kiss on the crown of her head and whispered that Sherlock would be home soon. Laura was far too exhausted to even tense at the sound of the detective's name, and she supposed that her despondency had actually worked in her favor this time.

"I could use a shower," she sighed in response, leaning back to finally look up at him. He was so lovely, so beautiful, and she didn't quite understand how after all she'd done she was still lucky enough to sit huddled into his arms.

"Alright. Take as long as you need," John told her as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and let his fingers linger on her face. Laura knew he wasn't just referring to the shower, but rather to the painful weight that was becoming increasingly hard to keep from him. She hated facing this storm without him, but she'd rather drown alone than bring him down to tumble beneath the waves by her side.

Laura still spent a few minutes wrapped in John's arms, taking in the feel of him so close and warm and around her. She knew he would keep her safe even as a war raged on within her that made her feel more hunted and unstable than she had in over a decade. But eventually she rose to her feet and waited for John to stand as well before he went up to his room and she retreated into the bathroom.

After a long, warm shower, Laura pulled on a t-shirts and a pair of pajama bottoms from one of the two drawers she'd claimed in John's room. She tried not to make too much of a disturbance as she climbed into bed beside him, but she found herself genuinely smiling at him for the first time in far too long when he sleepily leaned over to pull her into him.

She snuggled deep beneath the blankets as he held her close, and if Laura concentrated hard enough she could almost trick herself into believing that they were the only two people in the world, and that nothing else mattered because as long as she had John everything would be alright.

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**A/N: Whew! I wasn't kidding when I said it was a long one! Actually it's the longest chapter yet, by far. But I didn't want to divide it up and I like it as one long one.**

**Please let me know what you think about how Laura's handling with it all! Or you could just rant about how freaking ****_amazing_**** John is. Really you could say anything. **

**JUST SAY SOMETHING. **

**I MISS HEARING FROM YOU GUYS. **


	37. Ghosts

**A/N: So I've been in a procrastinating mood lately, which isn't too great for my schoolwork but which is great for you guys! So I hope you guys appreciate the fact that I'm sacrificing my chances of success in this cut-throat world of Academic America for your reading pleasure!**

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Laura's mouth stretched in a wide yawn as she slowly emerged from the first peaceful night's sleep she'd had in weeks. She could feel John's arms wrapped around her middle, and she allowed herself a small smile as she opened her eyes to take in his relaxed expression. He looked entirely at ease as he gently snored beside her, and she trailed her fingers along the faint dust of blonde stubble on his jaw before she placed a quiet kiss on his nose.

After another minute of faint kisses and soft caresses, Laura turned her head to check the time on John's alarm clock. Mrs. Hudson would have already laid out tea and toast by now, so Laura carefully untangled herself from John before heading downstairs. John hadn't been sleeping too well either recently, so Laura saw no need to wake him up on a day when he didn't have a shift until later that afternoon.

She padded through the living room towards the kitchen, wrapping her arms around her middle with a shiver as she halted just before the wide doorway. All she needed to do was cross over the threshold and enter the area she'd spent countless hours in for over a month. Yet she couldn't seem to force her feet to move any closer towards that hateful room, promises of perfectly crafted toast with jam or not.

"Morning."

Laura nearly jumped out of her skin as a rich, baritone voice sounded from her left, and she hesitantly turned her head to see Sherlock sprawled out on the couch against the wall. His dark blue dressing robe swirled around his bare ankles as he gracefully rose to his feet, and while Laura was glad for the slight bagginess of his t-shirt, she couldn't help the reddening of her cheeks at the sight of his form-fitting underwear. Of course, he could have merely decided to roam about without clothes as he had that first morning she'd spent at 221B that had led to a John strongly admonishing his flatmate.

Laura did her best to forcefully push away thoughts of naked Sherlock, but thinking of him in his current state wasn't much better as he continued to approach. Laura turned away from him, her body going rigid when he halted just behind her. If only she could just run into the kitchen, sprint to the other side of the room and put the table between them.

But alas, Laura was entirely helpless and could only stand frozen in terror.

"St-stay away from me," Laura choked out in a trembling voice, but her words didn't possess any of the stinging venom they'd had the day before. In fact, Sherlock responded with a laugh, low and mocking and God dammit she hated to admit it but she found the sound alluring as well.

He was like a drug of the worst kind, equal parts addictive and destructive. Laura didn't want this anymore, she hated every part of this with every fiber of her being, and yet she couldn't get away. He was her own personal demon and he was here to stay.

Sherlock leaned forward and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, the tiny hairs lifting and goose-bumps rising on her arms even as she dug her fingers into her palms so hard she could feel her nails cutting into her skin. He ran a cool hand down her forearm, the entirety of his palm slowly dragging across her flesh, and Laura squeezed her eyes shut when his other hand came to rest on her hip.

She stood motionless as his fingers slid beneath her shirt to gently massage her hip bone. Laura knew from experience that no matter how hard she tried to resist, there was nothing she could do. She was trapped, caged in the softest of barbed wire, and free will was no more than a cruel illusion created to increase her suffering. So Laura gave up on fighting back, gave up on running away, and gave up…she could hardly believe it but she supposed that meant she'd given up on John as well.

Laura's head lolled back to rest on Sherlock's shoulder as he kissed at her neck, his warm lips eagerly chasing across her skin. His hand was beneath her shirt now, sliding up to cup one of her breasts as his other hand pushed beneath the waistband of her shorts. She was Sherlock's now; she'd given up her claim on John and Sherlock had snatched her up for himself.

But no, that wasn't right. She couldn't give up on John. John was her world, John was everything. He loved her, really truly loved her in the purest sense of the word, and she couldn't give up on that. People fought and died and killed for something like that; she wasn't going to let him down when so many others had sacrificed so much in the name of love. It would hurt, it would continue this terrible brand of misery she hadn't had to face since the age of eighteen. But John was worth it.

"Sherlock, stop," she heaved, the words erupting from her lips with the strength she'd been sure she'd lost over a month ago.

"Why?" he questioned with that same low laugh, and she paused for a moment before clearing her throat.

"John," she said, a small smile forming on her lips as she spoke his name like a wistful prayer.

"What about him?" Sherlock asked as he traced a finger around her nipple, and she frowned at his unexpected response. Her body felt limp, completely supported by Sherlock's sturdy frame behind her, and it was as if he'd dissolved all her resolve with that one question.

She knew she'd had a whole argument lined up in her head, a whole list of reasons as to why John was an adequate reason for Sherlock to leave her alone. But as Sherlock's hand pushed farther into her shorts and her hips began to roll forward into his fingers, Laura knew there was no chance of her remembering what she'd wanted to say.

But she had to say something, anything, to get him away from her. She didn't want this, she never really had, and it had to end _now_.

"Because he's right upstairs," Laura panted, speaking the first words that came to mind. She felt his lips spread into a smile as he slid his fingers away from her vagina, and she was able to think a little more clearly.

"What's so funny?" she demanded as he chuckled into her collarbone, and she let out an involuntary whimper when he pressed his nose into the shell of her ear and sucked her earlobe into his mouth.

"The fact that John's proximity is my only obstacle," he whispered, letting out another low laugh as her shorts pooled around her ankles on the floor.

* * *

Laura jerked upright in bed, her limbs flailing as she desperately tried to get Sherlock away from her.

"Laura, what's going on?" John shouted, his muscles tense and his eyes wide and alert as he frantically scanned the room, and Laura's breath caught in her throat when she caught sight of the gun he'd instinctively pulled from the drawer of his bedside table.

"Nothing. Just a bad dream," she told him in a small voice, her eyes glued to the weapon. John hesitated for a moment before he let out a heavy sigh as he returned the gun to its proper home.

"Jesus, Laura, I'd thought…don't do that again," he told her in an exhausted voice as he ran his hands over his face.

"Sorry," she whispered, clutching her hands in her lap as she fought to keep them from shaking.

"I…I didn't mean to scare you," John said a moment later as he watched her trembling hands.

"You didn't," she assured him. An entirely different monster, far more dangerous than any man-made weapon, was responsible for the fear that made Laura's muscles twitch. John scooted forward, taking her quaking hands in his, and she looked up to see him watching her carefully.

"Was it really that bad of a dream?" he asked, and she knew he was offering to listen if she wanted to talk about it. But Laura didn't even want to _think_ about it.

"I'm fine," she told him, and she sounded far from convincing even to her own ears. But she was just so tired of lying to John that she hardly cared to conceal her deception anymore.

"You don't look fine. You look like you've just seen a ghost," John told her, and Laura supposed she had. The ghost of Life-Ruining-Mistakes Past had come for a late night visit, and she didn't really care to see what insights the other characters of this cruel and twisted version of A Christmas Carol had to offer.

"I'm alright, really," she told him, going through the motions of setting him at ease as she lay on her back.

As she stared up at the familiar ceiling of John's bedroom and he continued to watch her with concern, Laura knew Sherlock's final words in her dream had been wrong: It wasn't just the fact that John had been nearby and could have discovered them that had made her try to stop Sherlock. It was so much more than that.

She could remember it all now as John began to place soft kisses on the backs of her fingers and slowly rubbed his thumb into her palm. She loved John, enough to fight and endure for him, and no matter how bad things got she wasn't going to give up on him.

"Let's go get some breakfast," Laura suggested with a genuinely warm smile after a few more minutes of silence, and John blinked down at her in surprise. She knew he'd probably expected her to continue to quake in fear or perhaps fall into a pit of despair. But Laura was a fighter now, a warrior, and warriors did not mope or shake in terror. Warriors knew they needed a steady diet of delicious food if they were going to have any hope of success, and Laura felt more than deserving of Mrs. Hudson's tea and toast.

"Alright," John responded with a smile of his own, keeping her hand in his as they made their way downstairs. Laura hesitated for a moment at the base of the staircase, but she took a deep breath and followed John into the living room. She let out a sigh of relief when she entered the vacant area, and John gave her an odd look but didn't comment. He led her into the kitchen and she crossed the threshold without incident, her grip on his hand tightening but relaxing a moment later as she realized she really had nothing to fear.

Laura and John enjoyed a breakfast of tea and jam-laden toast, and she quickly decided that she'd spend the entirety of the quiet day with him lounging around the flat until he had to go in for his shift that afternoon. It had been far too long since she and John had really enjoyed each other's company, and Laura wanted to do all she could to bring them as close as they'd once been.

Laura's plans were disrupted when Sherlock entered the flat around 9:00 brandishing a harpoon and completely drenched in blood. She'd shrieked at the sight of him as John merely gaped in surprise before rolling his eyes a moment later, and she hated to admit it but Sherlock's disgusting appearance made it significantly easier to keep her hateful fantasies at bay.

The chances of her being able to share a quiet day alone with John continued to deteriorate when Sherlock returned to the living room with cleansed skin and fresh clothes. He twitched and shuffled and bounced up in down in his seat and Laura found her head throbbing with exhaustion even as she watched him.

It was odd, but the longer she observed Sherlock, the clearer it became to Laura that she was no longer attracted to him. He'd been the one to pull her in and begin this terrible obsession, but her feelings towards Sherlock himself had thankfully returned to that state of fascinated friendship she'd so enjoyed before he'd begun his cruel little mind-games.

The creature within her mind still lived on, but it seemed her shameful encounter with the detective himself had brought an end to her attraction towards him. If she could just conquer the beast he'd created that resided in her head, Laura knew she could go back to being truly happy again.

Laura scooted out of the way when Sherlock began his frantic search for his hidden supply of cigarettes, and she shared a knowing look with John as the detective frantically bounded from one side of the apartment to the other. She watched with an amused smile as Sherlock's voice rose an octave and his hands fluttered when he mocked the case of Bluebell the vanishing rabbit, and she held back a laugh when John cried out in frustration while Sherlock's limbs senselessly jerked about in his black chair.

She'd missed this, being able to casually watch the two of them interact, and Laura felt light with relief as the first taste of complacent joy she'd had in what felt like years eveloped her. She didn't bother to listen to what the shaken man, Harold or something, said as he talked, and she didn't care that she laughed too loud when Sherlock bounded forward to inhale Hector's cigarette smoke.

They were back. John was her John as he'd always been, and now Sherlock was _Sherlock_ again too. She didn't care if Sherlock's feelings towards her hadn't changed, if he still felt that carnal desire he'd clearly expressed the morning before. There was no way he could pull her back to him, could hurt her again, and the knowledge that she was at least safe from the real Sherlock— even if the imaginary one still tormented her— was enough for Laura.

When John and Sherlock decided to take the Herman's case all the way in the moors of Baskerville, she knew it would probably be two or three days before she saw them again. The deducing pair had taken plenty of cases outside of London in the past; but that didn't stop Laura from pulling John into a kiss that was far more passionate than necessary once Harvey vacated the flat. She slid a hand into his hair as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and Laura knew she was probably thoroughly embarrassing him but she just couldn't help herself. Everything was going to be alright.

Laura pulled away from John, smiling as she took in his startled expression and flushed cheeks.

"Be careful," she told him, more because that's just what lovers said when they parted ways than because she feared for his safety. Sure he and Sherlock had encountered a few close calls in the past, but Laura felt as if luck was finally on her side and that this would be one of their least-exciting cases yet.

"Of course," John assured her with a breathless nod, and she gently patted his cheek before turning to Sherlock.

She stepped towards the detective with only a hint of hesitation, then stood on her toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. She knew it was a risky move, touching him like that, and really just standing so close to him wasn't the wisest choice. But Laura had to make sure things really were back to normal before she allowed herself to take stock in false hope.

Laura could barely hold back a sob of joy when his skin on her lips brought about no desire, no longing, no hunger whatsoever. It felt as if she'd just kissed her boyfriend's eccentric flat-mate rather than a man she'd eagerly fucked a mere twenty-four hours before.

Laura beamed at her two Baker Street Boys as they exited the flat, unable to conceal the immense joy she now felt. The two men stared at her in confusion for a moment before John offered a wave with a smile and Sherlock merely exited without a second glance.

Laura was left alone with her giddiness once they departed, an added pep in her step as she bounced into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea in John's favorite mug. She lowered herself into his chair a few minutes later, closing her eyes and leaning back with a sigh once she'd re-positioned the union jack pillow.

Her complacent smile faded as time went on and her imaginary Sherlock made his presence known in her mind once again. But Laura knew she could face him, that she was stronger than him now. She had John and Sherlock—she had everything—and the only tool this cruel projection had was a weakness she knew she could overcome. She was a warrior, and with the detective and the love of her life by her side she knew she could defeat this one final enemy that stood between her and happiness.

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**A/N: I like this chapter more than I'd expected to-it had sweet John, possessive Sherlock, and false-hope Laura. I say false hope because we all know that Sherlock and John's trip to Baskerville was ****_pretty_**** exciting (oh how I love dramatic irony!), so if Laura was wrong about that, perhaps she's wrong about things starting to get better too...? Only time will tell...**

**Also I had so much fun coming up for names for Henry other than Henry. You guys have no idea how entertaining that was. Probably because I'm insane and you all are...not. **

**Next chapter: John confides in Sherlock, and the detective is forced to take a close look at his less than admirable actions over the past few weeks. **


	38. Hunted

**A/N: So, I've been home sick for the past few days, which is why you guys have been getting such frequent updates. So as I suffer through the plague, you guys get to enjoy some Sherlock/John time!**

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Sherlock offered John a smile as he sat down beside him on the wooden picnic bench. He'd noted an unusual amount of tension in the army doctor's shoulders during the past few days they'd spent together, and although he desperately wanted to reach forward and massage John's muscles until they relaxed beneath his fingers, he supposed talking about his obvious stress would have to suffice.

Sherlock knew that now that they'd finished the case, getting John to open up about whatever was bothering him wouldn't be too hard. Sherlock also of course knew exactly what was bothering John—for the only thing that could cause John so much distress was Sherlock's own well-being or Laura's, and Sherlock had never been better.

So something to do with Laura was bothering him. John obviously couldn't have discovered what had happened between Sherlock and his girlfriend—he was far too calm for that, more morose than wrathful. Despite this, Sherlock told himself he only asked about this Laura-related issue because he was watching his own back. It was _not_ because he cared about Laura, because…well, because he didn't care about Laura. It was as simple as that.

Sherlock desperately needed to work on his self-deception skills.

"John, something is clearly bothering you. What is it?" Sherlock had never counted consoling others as one of his strong points, but what better way to get John to put his feelings out in the open than to clearly request information?

John let out a small humorless laugh as he scooped a fork-full of scrambled eggs into his mouth, and Sherlock did his best not to watch his lips or the muscles of his jaw move as he chewed. John took a sip of his tea, then sucked in a heavy breath and let it out in a huff of air that made his cheeks puff out.

"It's Laura," John said with his eyes focused on his smeared plate, and Sherlock didn't bother preening over his correct prediction; he would rather have been wrong and accompanied by a cheerful John than correct and have to watch his closest friend suffer.

"What about her?" Sherlock asked, reaching forward to pick up the small carton of condiments. He fiddled with the little packets, mindlessly rearranging them by color as he waited for John to respond.

"I think…I'm afraid someone's taking advantage of her again," John said after a long pause, and Sherlock's fingers froze. A small red pack of red peppers fell from his grip but he didn't bother to pick it up.

"What makes you say that?" Sherlock asked carefully. He'd originally planned on asking what evidence John had, but he'd quickly decided that it would have sounded too accusatory, too challenging.

Sherlock didn't want to challenge, he wanted to comfort.

Plus John would only accept the challenge as a reason to further investigate his fears, and Sherlock didn't like to think of how John would respond to what he might find.

"I don't know, it's just…the way she acts. Like she's being _hunted_ or something. She's just so afraid, all the time, and all jittery and shaking. She's constantly on edge, and just…just not _Laura_. I haven't noticed any marks or bruises or anything like that, so I don't think it's purely physical. But something is definitely going on. Someone's doing this to her."

"Are you sure it isn't something else? One of her customer's books just flopped, so maybe it's just stress," Sherlock offered, going for the tactic of feeding John doubting thoughts.

John looked at him, blue eyes dark and hard. Sherlock saw a warrior there, battle-worn but ready to fight.

"Yes. I'm sure. I know what abuse looks like, Sherlock," John told him with conviction, his voice tinged with the slightest bit of distain. Alright, false-doubt was clearly not the way to go.

But _abuse_? Surely that was a bit extreme. Sherlock knew he'd been manipulative and rather conniving, and yes he hadn't given much thought to what Laura wanted when he'd pulled her in. He'd also ensured that she'd feel helpless and unable to leave. But abuse? Surely not. Abuse required a victim! And yes, alright, Laura had been his victim in the _strictest_ sense of the word, but still! He hadn't hurt her—had he?

"Has she said anything to you about it?" Sherlock asked after a long pause. Surely if Laura felt as if she'd been wronged she would have told John about it? He knew the last thing Laura would want to do was alert John to the fact that anything was out of the ordinary, but if she'd been _hurt_ surely that would change things?

"No," John began, and Sherlock let out a tiny sigh of relief.

There. If she hadn't told John about it, then he hadn't hurt her. And if he hadn't hurt her, then it wasn't abuse. It was merely human nature; Sherlock had taken what he wanted and fed when he was hungry. There was nothing abusive about it.

"She hasn't said anything about anything, that's the problem," John exploded, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. A couple at the neighboring table cast him a wary glance and John practically growled at them in response.

"It's bloody obvious that something is going on, but every time I try to ask her about it she just shuts me down or makes it seem like I'm being ridiculous. But I _know_ something is going on," John said, his voice still full of energy as he now stared at Sherlock as if willing him to agree with him.

Sherlock found himself nodding along with John's emphatic words, despite the fact that encouraging him would only bring Sherlock closer to the line of fire. But he hated seeing John so upset, so distressed, and all he wanted to do was set him at ease.

"So I have no idea who's taking advantage of her or when or why or how or _anything_, and I feel like there's nothing I can do. But I can't just sit there and watch her continue to fall apart. I can't do that, Sherlock. I can't," John said, his voice finally breaking as he buried his face in his hands with his elbows resting on the table.

Sherlock reached forward, his hand hovering over the area between John's shoulder blades. It would be perfectly normal for him to gently rub his friend's back. It was an expression of comfort, wasn't it? His fingers twitched.

John pulled his hands away from his face and sat up with a sigh, and Sherlock's hand flew away before his flatmate could notice.

"I'm going to go load our bags into the car," John said a moment later, his voice a clearly forced calm, and Sherlock felt dread pool in his stomach as he watched the one person he cared about most stand and walk away from him with a slight limp.

Sherlock was suddenly struck with the image of Laura frantically gathering her clothes, her voice ringing with hysteria as she shoved him away and stared at him with eyes wide in fear.

He was hurting John.

And confessions be damned, he'd hurt Laura too.

She was a victim, and he'd abused her. He'd studied her weaknesses and taken advantage of them for his own pleasure, with no regard for what she'd wanted or what was best for her.

Sherlock had never before considered the possibility, but it was now clear to him that the actions that had given him so much pleasure had negatively affected the two most prominent people in his life. This realization rendered the pleasure far less sweet.

Sherlock had worked so hard to get rid of that limp, to put John back together, and now it had come creeping back as a consequence of his own actions. Sherlock had damaged what kept John happy, what kept him whole, and without her—without Laura— John was falling apart again.

Sherlock was the one who'd started this, who'd hurt Laura so badly that it was causing John immense suffering as well. And so Sherlock would be the one to finish this. He would firmly put an end to his actions towards Laura and would even abandon all thoughts of her. It might not have been much, but it was the best he could do.

Sherlock could only hope that it wasn't too late, that things hadn't gone so far that his abstinence wouldn't have any effect at all.

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**A/N: So, just like Laura was all "oh things are finally starting to go my way!", now Sherlock's like "hey maybe I can fix this!"; lets just say they're both equally successful when it comes to making things better. **

**Remember guys, season 2 didn't exactly have a ****_happy_**** ending! **

**Anyway, next chapter: Laura is shocked to find out that wow, surprise, things ****_aren't_**** magically all better-in fact they only suck more, and in a way she didn't see coming! **

**(My sickness has put me in a bad mood, so I'm mocking my characters instead of feeling sorry for them.) **

**Let me know what you think of John and Sherlock's little talk! They haven't had any alone time in so long!**


	39. Ultimatum

**A/N: And so now you guys get to see what I meant when I said Laura was _way_ off when she predicted that things were about to get better...**

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Laura hummed softly to herself as she stood before her wardrobe, her fingers lightly dragging against fabric as she took her time deciding what to wear. John lay sprawled out in her bed behind her, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above him, and Laura took a deep breath as she forced herself not to wonder what he was thinking about.

Since John and Sherlock's return from their rather eventful trip to Baskerville earlier that week, it had become clear to Laura that John knew something was up and he wasn't going to let it go. She'd hoped that now that her attraction to Sherlock had vanished, it would be easier to convince John that nothing was wrong and that she was fine—because she was now much closer to being fine than she had been when she'd had to worry about resisting Sherlock. But now it seemed inevitable that John would eventually begin demanding answers, whether or not the situation improved.

Laura finished her song but began it again as she selected a shirt and pair of pants, holding them up together as she considered whether or not the colors complimented each other. She fleetingly considered asking John for his opinion, if only to pull his mind away from whatever dangerous path it currently wandered down. But she did away with her plan to distract him when he suddenly sat upright.

"Laura, is someone hurting you?" he demanded as he stared intently at her, and one of the two hangers fell from Laura's grasp as she stared at him. She'd expected John to continue prying for information as time went on, but Laura had never imagined he would assault her with such a blunt question as he'd done just now—and certainly not so soon. Apparently her secrecy bothered John far more than she'd anticipated, and that knowledge only made Laura feel worse about keeping the truth from him.

But although her secrecy clearly upset him, Laura knew she couldn't explain. John could never know.

"No of course not," Laura told him with a frown. She knew if she'd been truly innocent she would have abandoned her clothing and come over to sit beside John, asking him what on earth could have made her think she was in danger. But Laura desperately wanted John to forget about it entirely, and prompting him to voice his suspicions aloud while allowing him to watch her reactions would not help her achieve that goal. Besides, Laura honestly didn't want to know how much John knew or what evidence he had to support his belief.

But she could see that she hadn't managed to convince him; in fact, he only looked more upset by her deception as his brow lowered and his lips pursed in obvious displeasure.

Laura turned away from him, returning her shirt to the wardrobe but leaving her pants on the floor as she made her way into the bathroom. She was quite literally running away from the question now, and she knew this would only further solidify John's conviction that she no longer trusted him.

God, he'd probably managed to turn this into something he'd done wrong, Laura realized as she thought back to that first night he'd spent in her bed, to how he'd thought he'd somehow been making things worse. She couldn't even put him at ease this time, couldn't explain the real issue that had brought on her suffering to assure him that he had nothing to do with it.

Even as she endeavored to protect him Laura was hurting him, leaving him burdened with this guilt he didn't understand and never would. John had only ever looked after her, comforted and consoled her, and yet she could only hurt him with her pain. Laura brought destruction and despair everywhere she went.

Had she not requested a visit from her parents because she missed them after not seeing them for eight months as her 16th birthday present, they never would have perished in that helicopter accident. Had she tried harder to connect with Irene instead of wallowing in despair after their parent's deaths, Irene would have loved her enough to terminate her partnership with Jim and thus shun the world of crime. And, had she been strong enough to ignore Sherlock's actions instead of letting them eat away at her from the inside, she would have been able to save John from this terrible confusion.

All her life Laura had allowed her suffering to ruin the lives of others, and now the pattern had escalated into the worst possible scenario, injuring the one person she loved most.

She held back a sob as she gripped the sink with slightly trembling hands. She had to fix this. Even if it contradicted every outcome of past events, she couldn't let her despair ruin John like it had killed her parents and destroyed Irene's life. She was a warrior and she was going to fight, even if the odds were stacked against her.

Laura twisted the tap, splashing her face with cold water as she forcefully controlled her breathing until she was sure not a single sign of distress was visible. She then wiped her face with a towel and squared her shoulders, giving herself a curt nod in the mirror before she returned to her bedroom to face John.

He sat with his face in his hands, his shoulders rising and falling as he took heavy breaths as if looking for a reserve of strength hidden somewhere deep inside of him.

Laura had done this to him. God, what was _wrong_ with her? Why did she have to destroy everything she loved? Was it some sort of curse, the revenge of an evil witch who hadn't been invited to her coronation?

That thought brought on more hope than it had any right to as Laura considered that if she was Sleeping Beauty, she'd soon be gifted with the promise of an endless slumber—for if she faded away into a deep sleep, she was sure not even the most gallant prince would ever risk something as worthless as a speck of pocket lint to bring her back. She was a plague, a burden on humanity and all things worth protecting, and the world would be better off without her.

Laura took a deep breath of her own, pushing away her thoughts and steeling her nerves like a soldier preparing for battle as she sat on the bed beside John. She placed a hand light on the spot between his shoulder blades, and when John didn't flinch away from her she began to rub soothing circles into his back. She was going to fix this—to fix him. She wasn't sure exactly how to go about it, but she would.

"John," she whispered, leaning forward to catch his eye as he let his hands fall from his face and looked over at her. She let out a noise of pained surprise as she caught sight of the puffy redness around his eyes, and Laura felt as if her heart had fractured as she stared at him. She wanted to run, to get as far away from him as possible and just keep going until she couldn't take another step. But instead she gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze and blinked away her guilty, self-loathing tears.

"Laura…Laura I don't know how long I can go on like this," he told her in a quiet voice, and suddenly nothing felt real. Laura couldn't feel the bed supporting her from below, she couldn't feel John's warmth beneath her hand. Her head felt light and her vision spotty and she wondered if perhaps her death had finally arrived.

But the welcome sensation ceased a moment later as she realized that eternal slumber wasn't going to save her. And John wasn't going to take back what he'd said, either. This was real.

She really had ruined everything.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice tense and faded as she spoke while simultaneously attempting to hold her breath until she passed out.

Laura didn't want to know what he meant. She wanted him to tell her he loved her and that he always would, that he'd always be there for her no matter what and that nothing she could do would ever change that. She didn't want him to elaborate, to give a reasonable and logical and sensible explanation that she knew she wouldn't be able to fight against. She didn't want to lose this war. But she asked him anyway, and took another breath so she'd be able to hear his answer, because she knew she didn't deserve to win.

"I can't…Laura, how is this supposed to work if you keep secrets from me, if you _lie_ to me? If you refuse to trust me enough to let me help you? If you just keep pushing me away until I don't even know if you want me anymore?" John's voice was full of sadness and desperation, his face twisted in pain, but as he talked she could almost see him giving up. "Actually, I might as well say it: it _isn't_ working, Laura. It...it's not," he sighed with a defeated shrug.

Laura didn't even bother holding back her tears as John shoved a dagger into her gut and twisted it with sickening force. He was right of course. Things hadn't been the same, not at all, and she'd managed to fool herself into thinking that that was ok, that everything would be alright as long as they were together. But they _hadn't_ been together, not the way they had before, in far too long. John wanted what they'd had before—he didn't want this sick twisted thing they had now.

But how could he think she didn't want him? How could he give up on her like that? Laura had given him everything she had left. And that's what he was saying, wasn't it? That what she was giving him, that all she had left, wasn't enough.

Not unless she explained. Because John wasn't just throwing her away because she'd been hurt, because things weren't rainbows and unicorns anymore. He was trying to make her see that she needed to tell him what was going on, that he couldn't keep going if she left him in the dark—that in the end she couldn't have his love if she wouldn't let him have hers. And there was no point in trying to tell him that this was her trying to give him her love, trying to keep him from dealing with even more pain, because she doubted John would understand—and she was beginning to wonder if she really understood it herself.

"I'm sorry," was all Laura could say as she watched him in earnest, but she filled the two words with so much emotion it hurt to even speak them. She was sorrier than any spoken language could even begin to convey, but she feared she'd never be able to back up her apology with action. And John knew that.

"Hm," he grunted, looking away from her, and Laura turned away from him, biting down on her knuckle to keep herself from crying out in agony. He didn't believe her. John didn't believe that she was sorry, that she'd do anything to make this right, to fix him, to get him to let her love him again.

Laura stumbled to her feet and out of the room, haplessly pushing her feet into a pair of shoes by the door and pulling on a jacket as she blindly exited the flat in her pajamas. Her vision blurred by ugly tears, Laura wandered down the street towards what she hoped was a taxi and climbed inside. She leaned her head back on the seat and openly sobbed once she'd given her destination, snot and salt water running down her face as she struggled to come to terms with what she'd just experienced.

She'd spent so much energy trying to fight this war, but it was now clear that she might not even have a say in how it would end. Regardless, she'd promised not to give up on John, and she would make one last attempt before going back on it.

Laura had made the mistake of trying to fight this war on her own. But in reality, she hadn't been the one to instigate this bloodbath, and the first offense had involved two persons, not just one.

And so, as she listened to the fragments of her shattered heart jostling about her rib cage whenever the car went over a bump, Laura hoped her highly intelligent partner in crime would come up with a way to fix what she couldn't.

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**A/N: Christ that was depressing. I mean I know this is an angst fic but _still_. Writing that was pretty heartbreaking; remember how cute and adorable John and Laura's relationship used to be? And now they're left with this broken mess and…ugh. Why did I do this to myself? And to you guys? Masochism (also known as Moffat-ism); that's the only explanation I can think of. **

**Anyway, next chapter we get to hear from Sherlock again, and it's less hard-core depressing but not cheerful by a long shot. **


	40. Playing With Fire

**A/N: So, before anyone gets upset about me not updating for so long, I have a legit excuse this time: I WAS IN CHINA! (which was AMAZING by the way, if anyone ever gets the chance to go don't pass it up; exchange student programs: literally the best thing ****_ever_****) Anyway I didn't have internet access the entire time I was there, not even on my phone, which was pretty rough. But I'm back now and look I wrote something so enjoy!**

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Sherlock sat with his fingers steepled, his lips pressed lightly against them and his eyes narrowed in concentration. He'd remained in this same position, seated tensely upon his black armchair, for the past three hours as he'd systematically purged his mind of all desires for Laura. He'd begun this process after convincing himself that his curiosity had been quenched and that he no longer hungered for her flesh, leaving himself with no need to continue harboring these feelings.

Of course had he taken a break from this cleanse for even a moment, Sherlock would have instantly come to the conclusion that the hunger remained and probably always would, and he could really do no more than push it as far away as possible in an attempt to keep himself from hurting Laura or John again. But Sherlock did not even momentarily pause in his work, and thus he held onto the firm conviction that he was getting rid of his thoughts of Laura solely because he no longer wanted or needed them.

Sherlock had almost completed the final and most difficult stage of his mental scrubbing when the door to the flat swung open without warning. He looked up to see Laura stumble into the flat, her cheeks marred by red blotches and her eyes and nose leaking fluid. Sherlock felt an odd twist in his gut as he took in her appearance and quickly concluded that John had confronted her about the abuse, yet she'd still refused to enlighten him. The longer Sherlock stared at her, watched the way she stood broken and defeated before him, the harder it was for him to deny that he did in fact care for Laura.

The sight of her in this state upset him not because it meant John was still suffering, but because John had clearly hurt Laura. Sherlock could see that whatever John had done had put her on the verge of doing something stupid, and this terrifying realization prompted him to apologize for his part in all of this. He needed to fix Laura before it was too late—and apologies were create to make things better, to soothe and to heal; so what better way to begin the task of putting things right than to fix the most pressing issue first?

"I am sorry," Sherlock said, lowering his hands from his face and speaking up before Laura could even explain why she'd entered the flat in the first place. "I didn't think. Not about what kind of repercussions my actions would have on you, or John. Forgive me," he finished in the same way he'd finished every apology since the first one he'd begrudgingly uttered at the age of twelve.

A tense silence followed, during which Laura merely stared at him with an expression of utter disbelief. It quickly became apparent to Sherlock that the fact that he'd known all along what he'd really been doing to her, every last bit of it, had just dawned on her. Sherlock watched her in fascination as the realization continued to sink in and her reaction blossomed across her face. Her breath audibly quickened; the blotches on her skin grew until her entire face and neck glowed red; her lip curled to reveal clenched teeth; even her hair seemed to stand on end as she morphed into the very embodiment of fury.

"I'm not going to _forgive_ you, you evil, heartless piece of _shit_!" she spat, and Sherlock jerked back ever so slightly in his seat as her words shot into him like a thousand poison-laden blow-darts. "You've destroyed my entire life, single-handedly put me through more pain and suffering than anyone else ever has, and now you think you can spew a few words of apology and suddenly everything will be alright? Well fuck you Sherlock Homes. That isn't how the world works."

Sherlock gaped at her in confusion, entirely at a loss for words as he struggled to process what she'd just said. He'd always been told that apologies were the way to repair relationships and make things better; if they couldn't fix this, then what could? Every time he thought he'd finally figured out the rules of how people worked, the protocol changed and Sherlock was left facing another bout of tears. But Laura wasn't crying, not anymore; she was…she was flaming.

"You played with fire and I was the one who got burned—and you've left me with such terrible, _terrible_ scars," she continued, her voice breaking but her face still set in wrathful determination as she stalked towards him. Sherlock was struck with the sudden desire to run, to curl into a ball and cower at her feet, but he remained motionless as she continued to approach. "So no, you don't' deserve _forgiveness_, you cruel, merciless monster. You deserve to _burn_."

Her hand flew forward to smack into his cheek, her palm stinging his flesh as his head was jerked sideways by the strength of her blow. He blinked rapidly, attempting to clear his spotty vision, and turned back to her just in time to see her hand reeling back for another attack. Sherlock's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, clutching it in his grip to keep it at a safe distance.

"Let me go," she growled, and she jerked at her arm but Sherlock refused to release his grip.

He looked up at her as she continued to struggle, and as he took in the way her eyes flashed and her hair surrounded her face in a wild dark halo like some sort of fallen angel, Sherlock realized that he'd never wanted her more. There was now no denying that everything he'd preached about his curiosity being sated had been utter crap; if Laura were to offer herself to him in even the slightest manner, stepping a bit closer to him or glancing down at his lips for even a moment, he'd devour her in an instant—then he'd take John as well, and make himself the master of them both.

But no, that was wasn't right; Sherlock didn't want to hurt them any more than he already had.

He released Laura's wrist and she moved away from his reach, her expression vengeful and still filled with rage as she rubbed at her wrist.

Sherlock thought back to that morning he and Laura had spent together not long ago, and how he'd wondered why John hadn't been able to bring out this side in Laura. The answer was now painfully clear to Sherlock: John had only ever been motivated by love, while Sherlock had always been motivated by lust. John had cultivated the best in Laura while Sherlock had only drawn out the worst.

As Laura continued to eye him warily from across the room, Sherlock knew without a doubt that his self-control would not be enough to keep him from hurting her or John again; just the slightest change in circumstance could easily make him lose control and knock down the flimsy remnants of their lives. He watched the way her fingers pushed into her skin, massaging the area he'd gripped. He imagined his teeth digging into that same spot, his tongue rubbing at it as his lips sucked until the tiny vessels beneath formed a dark blue bruise.

Even if she wasn't attracted to him any longer, even if she begged and screamed for him to leave her alone, Sherlock knew that he would still have his way with her if the opportunity presented itself—and he wouldn't be nearly as careful to conceal it from John this time. The knowledge of the pain his actions would cause Laura and John would no longer be enough to deter him.

"I need your help," Laura said rather suddenly, her unexpected words interrupting his shameful and disgusting thoughts. "I need you to fix what you started—what you pulled me into," she said, not meeting his eyes as she stared down at the floor. They hadn't really spoken since that morning, he realized. She hadn't heard his voice since he'd pushed her off his cock and hoisted her onto the sink, telling her he wanted to fuck her properly.

And now here she was, asking him to repair what he'd broken—_whom_ he'd broken—and unable to face the man who represented all that had gone wrong in her life.

"Yes. Yes I'll help you," he told her, and he watched as she nodded in response, her eyes still downcast. "I'm a danger to you and to John, and I need to find a solution to this problem," he said, his words finally prompting her to meet his eyes. The hatred had receded from her gaze, replaced by the type of respect one could only hold for an enemy-made-ally. "I need to find something that will put things right, that will keep me from hurting you again, but I don't know what exactly."

"Right," Laura agreed, pulling her jacket closer around herself at the mention of Sherlock hurting her again.

Sherlock desperately wished he'd realized before today, before a broken woman had arrived in his flat with the request for him to help her fix what he'd all but gleefully demolished, that humans were more than just hunger. He wished he'd been kinder to Laura the way John had. He wished he'd given her what she deserved and continued their friendship rather than taking what he'd wanted and ruining everything they held dear.

Now that he had painfully discovered this truth about humanity, he also wished that there might be some solution that would allow him to stay and enjoy the coming better chapter in their lives. But

Sherlock knew that the problem was him. He was the one who'd nearly reduced their world to ashes. And since the idea of his abstinence was clearly no more than a myth and therefore could only make the problem worse, perhaps his absence would be the solution.

Sherlock knew he wasn't strong enough to leave the live he'd created here with John, Laura, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, even Molly.

But he also knew he wasn't strong enough to stay.

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**A/N: So, I hope you guys liked it! :D**

**And I've MISSED you guys so you should all leave reviews because yeah :)**

**Next chapter: It's Reichenbach time!**


	41. Afterwards

**A/N: So, I have this annoying habit of putting off things that I don't want to end (like waiting a year and a half to read the last five chapters of my favorite series; yes that happened), and I feel like as this story comes to a close that habit's going to start getting in the way...I guess this is my strange attempt at an apology for being gone while simultaneously letting you guys know that updates might not be that frequent since i ****_really_**** don't want this story to end. It's been like my ****_child_**** for over a year and although I'm working on a sequel**_** I'm gonna miss you guys!**_

**But enough of my sappy babbling, on with the story!**

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Laura actively avoided John for the next month and a half.

She still made regular stops to 221, despite the unaddressed tension in her relationship with John, but she was sure to only visit when she knew without a doubt that he wouldn't be home. Laura had originally planned on staying away from the place all together, letting Sherlock take the reins on their quest to repair their lives. She'd wanted to stay out of it so as not to continue her streak of bad luck, to prevent her own involvement from ruining her one last chance at happiness. But Mrs. Hudson's notoriously caring nature had put a stop to that plan, as the older woman made a point of inviting her to tea in 221A at least twice every week.

Laura suspected Mrs. Hudson knew that she'd come to think of the apartments beside Speedy's Sandwich Shop as home. The older woman seemed to believe it was important for Laura to still feel grounded in at least some ways –losing John was already hard enough, and clearly Mrs. Hudson didn't want her to feel as if she'd lost the entirety of her unusual little family along with him. And so, rather than disappearing from their lives altogether and only corresponding with Sherlock via email when necessary, Laura spent two hours every Monday and Wednesday seated at a small kitchen table with a warm cup of tea discussing everything from what colors looked best with her complexion to just why the absent Mr. Hudson had brutally murdered that poor woman in Florida.

After their teas Laura would always head upstairs to 221B for a few minutes, doing her best to ignore the various pleasant and unwelcome memories being within that flat stirred up within her. She'd find Sherlock preoccupied with various tasks, usually involving a microscope or a box of nicotine patches depending on his mood, but he'd drop whatever he was doing the moment she entered the flat. With her seated rather tensely in John's armchair across from him, Sherlock would fill her in on how his plan to fix their messy lives was going.

He never really had much to say on that front, not having made much progress since the last time she'd visited, and so without fail they'd quickly fall into the kind of casual conversation Laura would never have imagined she'd be able to engage in with Sherlock after all they'd been through. But Laura knew that despite what he'd done to her, Sherlock truly was on a quest for redemption and was doing his best to heal their friendship. This knowledge, paired with a desire to discover how John was getting on without her, allowed Laura to relax enough around Sherlock to remember why they'd bonded in the first place.

When Laura wasn't trading bits and bobs of information with Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson, she was either at home wasting away the day by trying to get at least three uninterrupted hours of sleep, or she was at her favorite coffee house unloading all of her troubles onto Molly.

Although they'd been friends for quite some time, she and Molly had never really felt the need to engage in conversations geared towards topics other than books. They'd fallen into an easy routine of discussing whatever they were reading for hours on end, beginning a conversation during one lunch outing and then continuing it the next time they met for coffee with just as much emphatic gushing or infuriated bashing. They'd come to know each other through their likes and dislikes, through personal experiences and fanciful desires that related to their readings, and for a long time that had been enough to carry their friendship.

Their relationship had never been deep or profound, but it had never needed to be; Laura had had John to discuss heavier matters with, and Molly made a point of living a life that ensured she wouldn't need to depend on much discussion with others for contentment.

All this of course changed when Laura suddenly found herself without John.

She and Molly hadn't seen each other as frequently once the whole Sherlock fiasco had begun, as Laura had retreated farther into herself with each passing day. She'd begun actively avoiding Molly as things got progressively worse with Sherlock; the young medical examiner just had one of those faces that encouraged the spilling of secrets, and the last thing Laura had wanted to do was accidentally blurt out ever last shaming detail of her brief encounter with Sherlock.

But when John dropped out of Laura's life, Molly dropped back in. With him gone, Laura needed consoling more than ever, and Molly proved to be the perfect shoulder to cry on. She'd arrive at Laura's flat with a never-ending supply of wine, chocolate, and hugs, never backing out of a meeting no matter what time Laura called or how much work Molly already had stacked up. She would never ask questions other than for clarification, and would never demand excessive details the way John would have; Molly didn't need specifics to comfort her, to make Laura feel safe and loved even after her entire world had crashed around her shoulders.

Molly quickly became the invaluable ally Laura hadn't realized she'd needed in this war until it had taken another turn for the worst. Laura relied on Molly in the way she'd been afraid to rely on anyone since Irene's last betrayal, and as time went on it became clear that Laura would not have survived that month and a half deprived of any contact with John if it hadn't been for the authentic companionship she'd finally found in Molly.

* * *

Although being away from John for that month and a half had been hard, Laura had never really planned on coming into contact with him again until Sherlock's plan to repair their lives had been deemed foolproof and was a guaranteed success. However, as the detective's fame grew and his time in the spotlight increased, outside forces altered Laura's plans once again.

When Laura reentered her living room during the middle of a newscast about a series of large scale break-ins quickly followed by the arrest of "Criminal Mastermind James Moriarty", she immediately headed to 221B without regard for whether or not John was home. She'd felt light-headed during the entire cab ride, her mind swimming with dreadful thoughts of what would happen to Sebastian if Moriarty was taken out of power.

She knew Sebastian was still with Jim, probably now working under him in an even more submissive position than he'd been in when she'd known him. But that meant now he would undoubtedly be filled with more cruelty as the attack dog of such an influential man than as the lackey of a young up-and-coming criminal. And now that his boss was indisposed he could use Jim's resources to do whatever he desired—to come after whomever he desired.

Sure Laura had been out of the picture for years, but if Jim had nearly strangled her just as a distraction, who knew what Sebastian might do to her just to be cruel, just to hurt her in the way that had always given him so much pleasure. Would he now turn to mercenary jobs without a steady supply of work from Jim? Or would he focus all of his attention on her, stealing her away from this relative safety she'd enjoyed so he could finish what he'd started all those years ago? Would Moriarty's arrest prove to be the worst event in her life so far?

Laura had no way of answering these questions that continued to increase in hysteria, and the more she thought about Sebastian being left to his own devices the more the countless possibilities terrified her. So she made her way to the safest place she knew to ask the one man she hoped could give her the honest and calm answer that would either put her at ease or assure her that she would be protected despite her fears.

Of course it just so happened that Laura arrived at 221B twenty minutes after John's shift at the surgery finished, putting an end to their month and a half streak without contact.

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**A/N: Sorry this one was kind of a 'here's what been happening' chapter, the next one will involve more dialogue/action; John and Laura meet again****_ with Sherlock in the room _****and...yeah. You'll see.**

**_P.S. I love you all _[yes, even you silent readers who, after all this time, after ALL WE'VE BEEN THROUGH TOGETHER, still refuse to make your presence known through reviews]_ and I don't want this story to end. I mean there are still roughly 6/7 chapters left and there'll be a sequel at some point but still I'm going to miss this I'm literally tearing up right now gaaahhhhh guysssss :,(_**


	42. Anything Could Happen

**A/N: So, although last time I talked about how sometimes I'll just not finish things because I don't want them to end, I'm posting this chapter as proof that the story will indeed go on! But anyway here's the John + Laura mini reunion you've been waiting for!**

**Also the full title of this chapter:_ Anything Could Happen (But Nothing Will)_; I just thought it was too silly to put as the legit chapter title but I wanted you guys to know I'd come up with it because I think I'm a lot funnier than I actually am. It's funnier if you've heard of the song. The song called Anything Could Happen. You know what, never mind, just go read. **

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Sherlock pulled away from his microscope and blinked away the faint ghosts of mitochondria that lingered in his vision as he heard the light clunk of a size seven pair of black heels travel across the threshold. He cleared his mind of thoughts of cell reproduction and looked up as Laura entered the kitchen with tense shoulders and her fists tightly balled in her jacket pockets.

It was neither Monday nor Wednesday, so he quickly concluded that she had arrived at 221 that afternoon with the express desire to speak to him. And, judging by her rather panicked expression, it had something to do with Moriarty's recent arrest.

"What will happen if and when Moriarty is convicted and is taken off the streets?" she demanded without pretense, as she lowered herself into the seat across from him, and Sherlock flipped off the light switch on his microscope as he considered her question. She was clearly more worried about the actions of Moriarty's right hand man than the criminal mastermind himself, and Sherlock pondered exactly how Sebastian would behave with his employer behind bars.

He supposed Moriarty would merely continue to run his criminal organization from a position of power in whatever high-security prison he ended up in, meaning little to no changes for Moriarty's lackeys in the field. Sherlock supposed that Sebastian might move up in the sense that he could act as a stand-in leader and liaison between the outside world and his boss, but he would still remain under Moriarty's control. All in all, unless Moriarty willed it, Sebastian would come nowhere near Laura; she already had enough genuine problems to worry about, and she didn't need to add a phantom fear of Sebastian to the list.

Sherlock sat up a bit straighter with every intention of relaying this calming information to Laura, but he paused at the creak of floorboards to his left. The familiar sound of wood yielding under a sturdy set of slightly worn shoes provoked a nearly inaudible groan of dread from his throat, and Sherlock prepared himself for the worst. Laura turned towards the noise but Sherlock kept his gaze focused on her, gauging her reaction as she faced the man she'd done everything in her power to both protect and avoid during the last few weeks. Laura had to have known she'd risked running into him by arriving at 221B out of the blue, but John's presence still seemed to send a shock through her entire body as her every muscle tensed in apprehensive discomfort.

Her breath was slightly shallower now, and Sherlock could see that the stress of being in John's presence after having parted on such a foul note and remaining apart for so long only added to her Sebastian-related fears. She shifted slightly in her seat, and her hands quickly retreated from the tabletop to fold in her lap. She looked as if she couldn't decide whether to huddle into herself and brave the storm or to flee before the rains came.

The silence became nearly unbearable as it dragged on between them, Laura staring at John and John presumably staring back, and Sherlock considered shoving his precious microscope onto the floor if only to create some sort of distraction, to put an end to this painful confrontation that was entirely a result of his own misguided actions.

Thankfully, John seemed to feel the same brand of discomfort and decided to fill the silence with a voice that communicated concern and what Sherlock knew he only imaged to be suspicion.

"Is everything alright?" John asked, and Sherlock could hear the slightly confused wrinkling of his brow and slight pursing of his lips in his voice. Laura openly flinched at his words, and Sherlock concluded that this phrase had a rather negative connotation between them, that it reminded her of the lies she'd told and the actions that had preceded them. John seemed to notice the discomfort and actual pain in her reaction as well, and he quickly backtracked.

"What's going on?" he rephrased, and Sherlock finally tore his eyes away from Laura to address his question. By finally facing him, Sherlock also got the added benefit of being able to further analyze John's reaction to this unplanned reunion. John's eyes refused to focus on anything other than Laura, despite the fact that his persistent gaze might have been a little unsettling, and he looked at her with such longing and obvious love that Sherlock considered blurting out all that he'd done if only to get them to direct their animosity towards him rather than at each other.

He knew that that course of action wouldn't solve anything—in reality it would only make things worse—but he'd yet to come up with a viable solution to this excruciating problem, and the prospect of an immediate fix was so desirable that Sherlock had to clench one of his fists under the table to keep him from blurting out the truth and just seeing what would happen.

John would hate him if he knew, that much was sure. He would punch him, kick him, scream at him, move out of the flat and abandon him forever. Sherlock would deserve all of that and worse, of course, and he would take it. He would endure.

But then John would eventually turn against Laura as well, Sherlock knew; he wouldn't hate her, couldn't hate her, but he certainly wouldn't love her in the way that both of them needed to keep them sane. So no, the truth wouldn't be coming out anytime soon. Sherlock would've willingly taken all the blame on his own shoulders, but the knowledge that both John and Laura would be irrevocably wounded by the revelation meant that John could truly never know.

"Laura was just asking about what Moriarty's people will do if he's convicted," Sherlock told him calmly, grateful for his ability to entirely separate the turmoil of his internal thoughts and emotions from his speech.

"Oh, ok," John said with a nod. A few moments passed during which Sherlock could practically see the neurons firing in John's brain as John slowly realized exactly what—or more accurately who—would prompt Laura to inquire about Moriarty's employees.

"_Oh_," John exclaimed, understanding flooding his face his brow creased in such unrestrained concern Sherlock had to further tighten his fist under the table. John came to sit beside Laura, protectively taking her hand without hesitation, as if it was natural for him to comfort her and console her no matter what, as if it had been programmed into his DNA to love her.

"So what would happen?" John asked, finally looking at Sherlock for the first time since he'd noticed Laura's presence, and Sherlock quickly shook off the faint bitter jealously that observation stirred in him.

Yes, what would happen? What would happen if he just blurted out the truth right now, shouted it so quickly there would be no time to take it back? Who cared if John hated Laura as well, they'd betrayed John together and thus deserve to suffer the consequences together. She didn't deserve him any more than he did, so if John didn't want him then perhaps Sherlock should just make it so that he wouldn't want Laura either.

His palm stung beneath the table as his blunt nails dug into his skin with enough force to draw blood.

"Moriarty will spend a lovely time in prison and continue to run the organization from there just as he would if he were freely walking the streets. Nothing will change. Although he will probably increase his efforts to beat me…but nothing that you need to worry about," Sherlock quickly concluded, unintentionally having offered a bit of information he would've rather kept to himself as he'd thought aloud.

"So nothing….nothing drastic?" Laura asked, and when Sherlock shook his head she released a breath she probably hadn't realized she'd been holding in a sigh of relief.

Of course Sherlock had every reason to believe Moriarty wouldn't even be convicted for his crimes in the first place. But he kept this particular piece of speculation to himself as he watched a smile break over Laura's face as her shoulders finally relaxed. John gave her hand a squeeze and she turned towards him, and Sherlock watched in mild fascination as John's lips spread into the smile that seemed to sooth Laura like water sprinkling over a sun-scorched flower.

Sherlock finally relaxed his clenched fist as he suddenly realized that his half-formulated plan to fix their lives was already beginning to work. John gently ran his thumb along the back of Laura's hand as the two of them continued to stare at each other with those hesitant but loving smiles, and Sherlock knew without a doubt that he was going to protect this no matter the cost. He was going to safe-guard the love that they had and deserved and needed, the love that he'd very nearly ruined and taken from them, even if he'd have to give everything he had to do it.

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**A/N: Don't be fooled dear readers, this is not John and Laura getting back together! I know it's just oh so lovely to think of their issues being resolved so easily, but if their lives were all fixed then there'd be no need for Sherlock to keep trying to come up with a plan to fix them! This was just John being John (because there's no way he's just going to let Laura face her Sebastian fears alone, no matter the state of their relationship); I just didn't want you all getting your hopes up and them being confused when it's not all rainbows and unicorns later. **

**Anyway, next chapter MORIARTY'S BACK and I'm really excited because I'm obsessed with him (what am I saying I'm obsessed with all the characters in this show) but I'm also kind of upset because every chapter I write brings me one step closer to the end and ugh now I'm tearing up again**


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